I’m kicking off with this journal post with a brief look at a couple of examples of Cezanne’s painting I’ve been enjoying. Here they are!
Christ in Limbo (Le Christ aux Limbes)
This, and Sorrow, or Mary Magdalin, are the two parts of the picture which was divided when it was removed from the wall of the salon at the Jas de Bouffan.
The characteristics of the two parts are well understood. The Christ in Limbo was derived from Charles Blanc’s illustration of a picture in the Prado which is now known to be by Sebastiano del Piombo.
The Magdalen comes from a Magdalen picture by Domenico Feti in the Louvre where it is entitled La MÉLANCOLIE.
I found these images when doing some sorting out. One of the great things about tidying up is rediscovery, and I’ve always been a fan of Cezanne’s painting. I particularly singled these put because I’m looking and thinking about the figure and ways to approach depicting it, and part of this process of reflection and consideration involves discerning what I like and what I feel moves me.
I’ll be experimenting for a while. Though a lot of my visual expression utilzes abstraction, the human body and the way we relate and connect to it is of considerable interest to me. It’s not the most publically exhibited strand of my creative working, but it’s always been there. My practice of Yoga, engagement in psychoanalytic psychotherapy, and contemplative spirituality have and continue to be vital practices which help me with connection to my self and others, and the dissociation experienced as part of the unfolding of my own life story has, I suppose not unsurprisingly, ended up as a significant theme which is most appropriately explored through figurative imagery and forms.
A Women’s Childbirth Story
Here’s a rather long poem on the topic of childbirth, yet its long with great purpose, reflecting in itself the lengthy process which characterised both labour physically and emotionally!
Words Poem 2023 by Jenny Meehan
Poem #birth #childbirth #maternity #mother #midwives #midwife #Caesarean
Words! Edited 2023
I’m walking out of our front door,
when my waters break!
What timing!
A gush of excitement!
I can hardly wait!
I’ve never done this
before!
But… “The hospital is very busy! “
I’m rather inconvenient,
I discover.
The timing might be good for me, but it seems it’s good
for too many others!
IN THE HOSPITAL
I go up the stairs and
down the stairs…
‘Sorry – There’s no room free!’
Up the stairs and
down the stairs…
Mind you – I’m doing what’s best for me!
I’m inside the delivery room now:
Look at the bed!
I’d quite like a chat, but I’m shown
“how it works”
instead.
The midwife seems distant…
Soon, she really is,
as we’re left on our own,
in a bit of a tizz.
“The hospital is busy.”
The midwife is not
‘with me’
My husband doesn’t know
what to do
I’m feeling
panicky!
Contractions come, contractions go,
I hear feet, in the hall.
At last!
The midwife’s here again
But she’s standing
by the wall!
As soon as I can get off
the monitor,
I’m crawling on the floor
for this earthy-birthy
business
I was designed for!
Burrowing into myself now;
things are really moving on.
Pain is here, yes,
but that’s alright; inside I’m feeling strong.
“You’re doing really well.”
Into my heart, they creep;
those four
sweet words of
encouragement
are words
I choose
to keep.
But later on
I hear another voice;
“Your contractions are not strong enough.”
Good God! They feel strong enough to me!
I wish you’d just
said
that things were always
hard,
with a babe
placed posteriorly!
Does this mean my uterus isn’t
up to this?
That I can’t do it
after all?
Some syntocinon
might be needed…
It’s bound to hurt
more.
A flash of doubt
starts cutting;
cutting, through my mind…
An Epidural! – I’ll go for that –
A needle in my spine!
THE “MOBILE” EPIDURAL
I’m 8cms.
When it’s done,
I’m unmoving.
Yes, the pain is gone,
Yet, I’ve lost more than I thought…
This ‘heaven’
is suddenly
still
and
silent.
Baby? Where are you?
Still there?
I can hear your ‘Beep beep beep.’
Something has ended
but it had only just begun?
Lying on the bed – nearly
flat
on my back…
There I was,
in no position
to change anything.
Progression
at a halt.
NOW
In retrospect,
I tell myself
it was ‘Circumstances’.
My dictionary tells me
the definition;
‘ Conditions, facts, or events accompanying, conditioning, or determining others’
It was.
I agree.
Yet my heart
still hurts.
I think I asked for
very little
on my maiden voyage
into motherhood.
THEN
What I wanted
was
you;
my midwife; a mother/sister figure, who
is sure
and strong
and keen
Who’ll help, suggest and
if I’m weak
Who’ll lovingly
be mean!
NOW
I’m my mind
I am caught
in the “then”
and “now”
- I have interrupted
my own poem – - I ‘wanted’ ‘then’ –
- I ‘wanted’ ‘now’ –
Just like my ‘failure to progress’
I used to feel that
my poem was
too long.
I berated myself
over it.
Over
and over it.
NOW
I’m adding
extra
words.
It is me
who makes
the interruption.
The words
I speak
are mine.
I am the midwife
of myself:
My head
is crowning
just fine.
I’m still looking back at my poem.
From ‘now’ to ‘then’ , I read
THEN
I read;
‘At last! A sweet face
is drawing closer!
“Good news! Baby’s coming down
and turning around!”
My clever baby!
How did you do it?’
Then, soon after:
‘Another doctor is here now;
he thinks it’s been too long;
14 hours and Syntocinon
to hurry thing along.
“The operating theatre’s free soon!”
He thinks he’ll give me a hand…
My disappointed face
he doesn’t understand.
He doesn’t think to ask me
what I would rather do,
though baby’s fine, and
I am tired,
but ever pulling through.
He thinks he’s doing me a favour
and is clearly
unaware
as he voices
his concerns
that he’s growing fear,
in here.
And growing doubt,
and growing doom,
and growing expectation
that the only
answer in the room will be…
YES…
To a major operation!
“You have been on Syntocinon for quite a while
and I’m a bit worried about the possibility
of your uterus
rupturing.”
Oh God! Am I about to burst?
Is that what he is saying?
Like a juicy grape, I’ll split…
His steady words are slaying
any hope of carrying on…
I can’t ‘just wait and see’
if
the drugs
they’ve put me on
prove
too stimulating
for me!
Just add a bit of self-doubt…
A touch, or two, of fear…
You white god of my universe
I wish you were not here!
WHITE GOD
You must know, what you are doing?
You must know, more than me?
Or is it fear that haunts you too
And makes you feel less free?
Just in case of complication.
Just in case of litigation.
Just in case –
It’s too hard for me.
“It’s very unlikely they’ll let you try
for a normal delivery next time.”
NOW
I remember…
He smiled then, as he passed the consent form toward me to sign.
He smiled;
a matter of fact, professional, smile.
He was certain.
“It’s very unlikely they’ll let you try
for a normal delivery next time.”
Or was this as he took the form
from me?
It may have been?
I am not sure.
I do know
it was at the exact
time
of the confident,
self-assured
smile.
I didn’t want
to remember this.
He did a good job of the operation.
THEN
‘Oh…
I see…
My destiny
is sealed, already.
Well, fine.
I obviously do
have something very
wrong with me.
(3/4 hour later)
Ah!
The show begins!
The theatre curtain’s green!
My husband wears a funny hat!
All is scrubbed and clean!
A lot of people, looking on;
a spectacle, to see!
I wonder ‘what is showing now?’
Or rather,
Which part of me?
“Look at those fibroids –
they’re the whitish parts”
I’d almost like to see them too!
No.
Seriously…
It’s
really
awful
here
I’ve
really
lost
it all
What a spectacle to see?
I’m looking
at the wall.”
BABY: LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
” When they lifted you up, high!
My little babe,
It was worth it,
My little
STAR! “
We work on meeting
us,
together.
Drop seperation
like a green curtain.
Stitch our bonded bodies up.
Smile.
Together.
MEET, and mourn the loss.
Feel grateful
that pains
don’t last
forever.
We continue labour –
My little star, and I.
She is big and
even brighter!
We hear each others cry.
We continue labour –
My little star, and I.
He is big and
even brighter!
We hear each others cry.
Daughter born 1998
Son born 2002 (VBAC)
I dedicate this poem to the student midwife who said “You’re doing really well.” I don’t know your name, but you won’t be forgotten. Thanks.
©Jenny Meehan
Thoughts on “Words” Poem of 2023
People are especially vulnerable at times like this. I felt I was subject to a system of birth management which didn’t serve me as well as it had the potential to, if the communications had been better.
I may well have had a c section if my experience had been different; that’s not hard to recognise. What was harder to come to terms with was that I was not supported emotionally or psychologically by several key people at that time with compassion, empathy and a willingness to communicate in a manner which would help to empower me and facilite a sense of security. I know this would have been immensely beneficial at a vulnerable time.
It is relevant, that on looking through my hospital birth records, at a later date with a midwife friend, there were no medical signs of potential uterine rupture. I do believe it was wrong to utilise fear as a means to convince a labouring woman to consent to a caesarean section, which is basically what happened. Unintentional? I hope so.
Yet, the fact is, to say something to generate fear in me in this way, was not necessary. “I’m a bit worried about the possibility of your uterus rupturing.” was not appropriate. There was no rush for a decision to be made by me; a little more time and care could have been given. I needed care, not fear.
Other considerations in the professional opinion/decision that a caesarean section was the best way forward, which were more tangible, and more importantly, actually existed there and then, were mentioned briefly. I little more time and detail on these delivered in a person-centred and empathetic way, I’m pretty sure would have been equally successful in facilitating my decision to have a caesarean section. Actually, I’m certain of this. I’m a reasonable person, as I was then.
I’m also sure that there’s a decision I could have made from a secure and safe place, and this decision was effectively taken away from me, because of the way the process of informing me of the progression of my labour and gaining consent was handled.
It would have taken a few minutes longer, yes, but it would have made a world of difference. To say “yes” to going ahead with a caesarean section… minus the fear that the strongest muscle in my body was apparently thought quite likely to rupture, and without the belief that it was also not thought fit for purpose in the future either… would have been a more positive experience.
Instead, I was led to understand at that time, that the state of my uterus was such, (even though it had not even been cut open yet, or even viewed by human eyes! ) that it was both insufficient for both present and future purpose. It was also totally inappropriate and insensitive to say “It is very unlikely they will let you try for a normal delivery next time.” to a labouring woman. It was both ignorant and untrue. This man was playing god. Is that right? Is this what a weak man needs to do in order to feel potent?
At no point had any medical professional I had spoken to about my 3 subserosal fibroids said they would be a problem in labour. They were high enough not to be an obstruction. There was nothing wrong with my uterus.
The words of one man during that labour were like a curse which I later determined to break, but the courage and faith it took to even contemplate going through labour again were immense. My VBAC was only made possible through the support, faith, and wisdom of others, a lot of research/fact finding, and my desperate need to believe I wasn’t destined to be tied forever to the ill timed, manipulative words of one egotistical man who positioned himself above everything and everyone else at probably the most vulnerable time of my life.
Yes, that is harsh.
It was. The fear was a curse. The faith was a blessing.
Is to have a sense of safety and security nurtured as much as possible during labour a luxury, or an unrealistic expectation for someone giving birth for the first time? Was a total loss of having a sense of control unavoidable or could there have been another way through the experience? One in which I felt I was more connected to, and a more active part of, however things proceeded?
Further Reflections:
Looking back on the 1998 “Words” Poem (the original poem, substantial segments of which make up the main body of this one)
The “words” referred to in the title of this poem were the words which were spoken to me and which stuck with me for various reasons. All text in speech marks was spoken by a total of 8 different people, but that concerning the capability of my uterus was spoken by one; the man who cut into it.
I used the memory of all these snippets of communication as key elements in this poem. I used rhyme to convey a lightheartedness I desperately wanted, but couldn’t feel. When I wrote the poem it was a method I used in order to increase psychological distance from the inner distress of the experience. 24 year’s later I touched the distress I had tried to avoid in a therapy session, which was healing. Hence my reviewing of the poem!
As the poem proceeds, I try to keep up the rhythm through rhyme… Maybe even in the writing of it, the dissociation I felt during labour spilt out in this way? It’s a betrayal really…At the outset any humour is genuine, but it turns into a kind of disguise by the end. The doctor did a good job of the C section, there’s no question of that. How he communicated with me is another matter, and it took a lot of work to undo some of the psychological aspects of the experience.
A Damien Hirst style Mandala
Title: “Poor art” Parody; A Damien Hirst “style” Mandala created from waste and without assistants.”
This was my response to the exhibition Mandelas at White Cube Mason’s Yard.
This mandela started with waste in the form of printed wrapping paper.
I was brought up with the phrase “Waste not want not”, which is said to advise someone not to waste anything, because they might need it in the future. This seems a timely message humankind in the present era especially, and regardless of perceived value, in art or anything else, we should all be using the resources we have wisely, however much or little they cost.
I created this to put into Instagram in September 2019 as I thought it looked rather nice on the square format and with the light of my phone screen behind it. I wasn’t going to print it at all, because I felt it would look best as a projection, but I gave in in the end, as you do!
I posted it with the following blurb:
“Damien Hirst
I’m procrastinating… Because I have all the time in the world!
Title: “Poor art” parody; A Damien Hirst “style” Mandala created from waste and without assistants.” (ps. I really like his work and am pleased to see it myself, yet the exhibition Mandelas at White Cube Mason’s Yard attracts indignant commentary for different reasons.)
Responding to several critical points, here is my massive contribution to the so called “art world”. I have created, in no time at all, a non physically exist ant digital image and thrown it out into existence (with no worries about my reputation because I don’t have one). Freedom in that.
An example of cheap art which has its own temporary attraction. It both can and can’t be thrown away. I’ve thrown it out now.
It started with waste (printed wrapping paper) and it’s part of me procrastinating this Saturday morning! May it never be printed.. It must never return to pigments of any kind. To dust it will not return.
This, from I, a poor player… “And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.” Good bye, my butterfly piece.
It was fun while it lasted! 😘🤣🤣🤣 Price: £0 but not currently available. “
“Poor art” Parody; A Damien Hirst “style” Mandala created from waste and without assistants.”was printed in the end… And submitted to New Exhibition Climate KAOS coming at Kingston Museum Art Gallery | Friday 10 September 2021 – Saturday 26 March 2022
But it wasn’t selected. Drat. Does happen sometimes, never mind!
I renamed it “Mandala”, (well, added to it’s name to be accurate); basically through chatting with people about it during the Kingston Artists Open Studios this year, I spent most time explaining how it was made, printed, and the underlying main concept of it being something which started as a screwed up piece of paper, which I was just going to throw in my rubbish bin. Then to be transformed into something which prompted many people viewing it to think of magnificent stained glass windows or kaleidoscopic pattern.
I stuck with calling it simply “Mandala” for the Rose Theatre exhibition after reading this…
Wikki has this:
” A mandala (Sanskrit: मण्डल, romanized: maṇḍala, lit. ’circle’, [ˈmɐɳɖɐlɐ]) is a geometric configuration of symbols. In various spiritual traditions, mandalas may be employed for focusing attention of practitioners and adepts, as a spiritual guidance tool, for establishing a sacred space and as an aid to meditation and trance induction. In the Eastern religions of Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and Shinto it is used as a map representing deities, or especially in the case of Shinto, paradises, kami or actual shrines.[1][2] A mandala generally represents the spiritual journey, starting from outside to the inner core, through layers.”
I chose” Mandala” alone rather than my full title for The Rose Theatre Exhibition which is coming up soon, because when I created it I was indeed in a very intense spiritual and creatively focused place. Sometimes that just happens. So when I read:
“In various spiritual traditions, mandalas may be employed for focusing attention of practitioners and adepts, as a spiritual guidance tool.”
I remembered the intense focus and speed at which I worked when creating it. So it seemed apt.
I still love the Title: “Poor art” parody; A Damien Hirst “style” Mandala created from waste and without assistants.” because it was a bit of a joke… Damien Hirst is able to use very expensive materials for his work if he wants to, while I am not, but the resources we have available to work with do not themselves represent the real value, as monetary value is it’s own entity, while spiritual, psychological and emotional value surpasses all.
I have my own signed laminated digital print in a Kingston Artists Open Studios Group Exhibition at The Rose Theatre this October! It’s available to buy, or if you want to take a look at some other options for prints of this artwork, take a look at my jennyjimjams redbubble page here:
https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/153001328
Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
“meandering with a mazy motion”
I stumbled upon this line of a piece of paper when I was tidying up and it made me laugh as I remembered how much I fell in love with it year’s ago and how “meandering” snuck into my blog’s title!
Meandering is an excellent word, suggesting, in the context of river symbolism, the need to allow oneself to he carried and shaped… To be contained, and to follow the course, both as a subject and object, being acted upon and acting upon.
The course of a river is determined by itself and it’s surroundings…
“Even in an apparently straight river channel, water will twist and turn around stones and other obstacles. This will result in areas of faster and slower moving water and the river will gradually begin to flow a more winding course. Over time these meanders will become more and more pronounced.”
As a keen open water swimmer, there’s a particular pleasure in being carried along in the flow of a river! “meandering with a mazy motion” is one of my favourite things both mentally and physically!
I’m not sure about the negative associations with the word “meander”. I find, as a creative, much purposeful activity and a sense of direction can emerge with the kind of mindset that allows for flexibility, and while this does need to be channelled, there’s a lot to be said for “going with the flow” in life, to a certain extent at least!
“On the inside of the bend, where the river is slower, material gets deposited due to increased friction. This results in the formation of a slip-off-slope on the inside bend of the river. Over time, rivers change shape due to both erosion and deposition, causing the river to change shape and slowly migrate downstream.”
And so the way is made! Virtually every river meanders, some more dramatically than others. Not a bad pattern to gain inspiration from!
Well, let’s get to the main visual focus, which is my print” Alph the Sacred River”. This was created around 7 year’s ago by me in response to an Artist’s Call out for an exhibition inspired by the poem “Kubla Khan”. As my BA Hons degree was in Literature I have a particular interest in the relating to and responding to literature so I jumped at this opportunity to exhibit and create.
Quick general angle on a way to interpret the poem here;
“Kubla Khan” can be read as an extended metaphor or allegory about the powers of human creativity, with the river that runs through the grounds of Khan’s palace serving as a map of the human psyche and its creative powers. However, the speaker remains skeptical about his own capacity to realize that creative potential.”
I’m not going to quote the whole poem but here’s what I wrote for the submission;
Statement – Jenny Meehan
For Alph, the Sacred River
“This artwork responds to the water element in the poem ‘Kubla Khan’; “Alph, the sacred river” whose mysterious flow runs through its lines. Resonating with emotional highs and lows and “meandering with a mazy motion”, it carries the listener along with it.
Water is a subject matter which often preoccupies Jenny, occurring as a repeated motif in many of her paintings and prints. An interest in the subconscious and the resulting exploration “measureless to man” attracted her to this image.”
And here are some other phrases I’m rather fond of in it…
“caverns measureless to man”
“a sunless sea”
“sinuous rills”
“dancing rocks”
Such romantic imagery, and so vibrant and inspired!
Support Via Redbubble
Though primary a fine artist, I can’t resist a bit of design from time to time, and now the days grow dimmer and the nights darker, I’m moving out of the garden and painting and into the digital delights of pixels and digital imagery, plus the usual words and writing!
Swimship Design Example
is the link to shop for buying prints and products by designer Jenny Meehan
Open Water Swimming Poem.
https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/94840329 is the link to shop for buying prints and products by designer Jenny Meehan
I’m an independent artist, mostly investing my time into fine art (painting) and writing but I’m a keen open water swimmer, so my love for water and swimming naturally has spilt into my artworking! 🙂
I have an artist profile with redbubble, which are an online print on demand marketplace and I have a collection of open water swim art, poetry, and signage online.
You can get many different types of printed products suitable for all budgets. This is one of the main reasons I use redbubble as it makes my work accessible.
Any sales also generate a small income for me (an artist’s margin.. Its a bit like a royalty) which basically pays for my art materials.
So take a look! 🙂
Carter Heyward on Love
Yet more wise thoughts from Carter Heyward! Quoted from: Carter Heyward in “Touching Our Strength – The Erotic as Power and the Love of God”
“We are not automatic lovers of self, others, world, or God. Love does not just happen. We are not love machines, puppets on the strings of a deity called “love.” Love is a choice — not simply, or necessarily, a rational choice, but rather a willingness to be present to others without pretense or guile. Love is a conversion to humanity — a willingness to participate with others in the healing of a broken world and broken lives. Love is the choice to experience life as a member of the human family, a partner in the dance of life, rather than as an alien in the world or as a deity above the world, aloof and apart from human flesh.”
An early painting of mine, painted during a course at West Dean College tutored by John T Freeman. In that year, 2010, I was having a very hard time psychologically, the immediate reasons being coming to terms (or rather, not being able to come to terms) with the consequences of a violent physical assault on one of my siblings (traumatic brain injury) which though it had happened many years earlier in 1995, were becoming more obvious.
Also, I was more fully realising the impact on him and my relationship with him. His head injury was also mine; of course in a different way, however, still very painful. Hence the damaged and bloodied head. The volcanic eruption does symbolise the immense pressure of repressed emotions, and the crucifix my Christian faith, which though I did not loose it, took a massive battering too, and I did experience hopelessness big time.
I haven’t kept the whole painting, just a segment of it.
A couple of “Keim Galaxies”
Yoga Inspired Paintings
Taking another look at my paintings “Breath One” and “Breath Two” as I’m trying to increase the frequency of my Yoga practice over the Autumn and Winter.
Well, this post is pretty long, so it’s time to go now!
Bye
Jenny Meehan - Art Journal 