give the murdered girl some space

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someone in oakland is using nancy spungen's last name as their tag and i absolutely love that. whoever you are, keep going! i want to follow your lead! i want to write the names of murdered girls everywhere. i want to keep their names alive and in front of all our eyes. maybe we could all do this? let's all buy paint pens on payday.

about

my elsie project has no time line, no real structure or end-date or expectation other than to know her shadows. the portraits are hard if i try to force them and so i allow her to show up when she wants. this way, the portraits move fast, furious, fiery, and with an intense sadness too. but also appreciation. also play. and while i work on these, sporadic and unexpected as it is, i also write about what it's like to make these portraits.

this is an excerpt from that collection- your poem for the day:


a bell peals the hour-
a ringing cupid
hung low.
a cup for the well-kept.

this cup is not for you.
your floor is covered in holes.
mice and the smell of them.
a sour mattress shared and dinner forgotten.

hard crusts and whiskers
in the sink. the horrible thing
that whispers in the morning.
eyes creaking, breaking hinges,

and mama still sleeping.


the bell goes on pealing.

you better run.
run run, little one.
run
run
pretty pretty
peeling peeling

3 days

that's how long.

this is the quickest an oil painting has come to me in a very very VERY long time.



Alpha
42" x 35"
oil on canvas
angela simione, 2010
N.F.S.

for now, she rests safely in my private collection. this will not be the last time i render her likeness. not nearly. and so i must keep her and tend to her shadows. an angel on my living room wall. secure. whispering. loved.

wrestling with ideas...

surprisingly, Facebook CAN be good sometimes. i found this quote this morning and it fits so nicely with a lot of the ideas i've been exploring lately. i haven't read this book but i will quickly remedy that. this passage really struck me.

"But I began then to think of time as having a shape, something you could see, like a series of liquid transparencies, one laid on top of another. you don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away."

-Margaret Atwood, from the first page of Cat's Eye


especially the last sentence: Nothing goes away.

i've been thinking a lot about how memory brings The Past in to The Present moment... makes it alive again, lets it operate again... and that the operations of a memory can be just as inexplicable and confusing as the rest of human life and interaction. an overlapping of time. however, i must accept that The Past, even if it is awake in the present, cannot be changed. it cannot be erased or altered. it happened. it is final, in that sense, even if it is active.

and so... finding a way to walk with memories instead of letting them take the lead... finding a way to live with certain knowledges, certain insights, certain wounds, becomes the challenge. and not to scapegoat or become embittered. not to use The Past as a reason to run and hide or to become cruel, become malicious... not to trade places with The Monsters... not to join them.

as i study loss, grief, expressions and states of mourning, i see more and more clearly how sneaky and attractive and (possibly) a natural reaction for The Abused to long to become The Abuser. i see how slippery that particular slope can be. to hurt because you've been hurt...

but that isn't the only choice. no matter how victimized or traumatized a person may have become, it is still not license to become a monster. and i thinking specifically of murders and rapists here. specifically the people who tortured sylvia likens to death.

i watch that show 'Most Evil" a lot- the one where the psychologist explores killers' childhoods and examines the abuse these people generally suffered as a child in order to find a reason for why they became so violent later on in life.

it's very interesting and completely compelling and i think it's such an interesting practice, on the part of the doctor, to make a scientific argument for the existence of evil (a spiritually defined state). but he doesn't excuse it. there are many many many MORE people out there who have suffered in the same ways who do not turn around and react with such extreme violence and hatred toward others.

once you become a monster, you give up the right to the compassion we extend to victims. once you turn the corner and become The Abuser, you no longer get to expect the care and concern we offer to The Abused. because The Abused are the reality of these crimes. they are the mark, the proof, the evidence of another person's malice, hatred, and callousness. they are the people who bear this, who can speak as a witness... and so we must look at them, we must listen to them. or i must. i must because if i only look at the killer, the torturer, the abuser, and i examine their life solely, i will end up finding out that they were too, once, a child who was hurt... and that fact will wake up sympathies and confusions and torments in me that can be used distract me from the fact that they are not that scared child any longer.

they too became adults and made choices. and just as i am not allowed to sit here and blame the realities of my life on other people, and scapegoat my responsibilities on the actions of others, neither are they. if the past is awake in the present, i can have compassion for who these people were as a child, but also indignation and disgust for who they are as adults in the HERE and NOW.

and it could be that ignoring a victim's pain, refusing to hear their story, is a clear path to waking malice inside them. and so all the more reason to look at The Victim. all the more reason to try to understand them, where they are, their feelings, their insights, their knowledge. and i don't mean that as a preventative measure solely, but allowing art, science, and philosophy a set of ethics. all this learning and exploring doesn't matter worth a shit if it isn't beneficial inside daily life... at least at some point. there is absolutely no worth to examining why someone tortured another human being if we are unable to use that knowledge to either stop that cycle or to provide care to those who were made to suffer. i study atrocity in order to develop a deep sense of empathy... in order to be able to listen with my whole being... in order to move beyond fascination. fascination is step 1 in my practice. and not just my art practice but my way of living.

fascination must not be allowed to go so unchecked that we end up rationalizing horror. psychology can explain these horrors but it will never be able to explain them away. it will never erase what was done. it will never make it okay. it will never heal the wounds that we must learn to walk alongside of. it will never undo the pain of atrocity. the past is a FACT that can operate in the present but that isn't a license to do such grievous harm to others. it does not render a person's malice harmless. since when does understanding something turn it in to a positive? or even a neutral? understanding how someone became abusive does not change the fact that they are abusive.

and since we cannot change the past, we must deal with who these people ARE right now this minute. being beat up as a kid can't be used 30 years later to get you off the hook for becoming a monster. think of Hitler. he was once innocent too. he was once a scared and hurt child too. but that doesn't excuse The Holocaust and it definitely doesn't undo the trauma that so many others were subjected to as a result- sheer horror, complete degradations, entirely brutal malice. understanding what made hitler Hitler, doesn't change what happened. it doesn't undo what he did. it doesn't make charlotte delbo any less a victim or any less a survivor.

understanding HOW a person becomes monstrous certainly won't lessen the reality of the amazing state of pain sylvia likens died in.

and it doesn't alter the ripple that is sent out.

i think of the police officers and the detectives and the coroner who had to handle her case. they are traumatized too. and the ripple goes and goes and the story of her life lands in front of my eyes. i feel traumatized by these facts too. it isn't nearly the same degree as the coroner who had to write this stuff down, but it still exists.





i'm worn out now. i get long-winded when i get excited or when i'm trying to figure something out and see where i stand on an issue. more later.

attempt

untitled
19" x 22"
graphite and masking tape on paper
angela simione, 2010

this is what i've been thinking about for 2 years straight. i do not have many answers and maybe i'm just too senstive but i can't get around it...

we know the names of serial killers-

their violence is so inexplicable, so callous, that (as a culture) our stunned reaction to them is one of fascination. just like our fascination with rouge elephants or anything that seems to be so far outside the realm of normal, expected behavior. and it is fascinating. all anomalies are. anything out of the ordinary will draw attention. of course it will. we want to know why and how these things occur.

and i think of the Holocaust. i think of Charlotte Delbo's play "Who Will Carry the Word?" and that this play is also a very literal question. who will carry it? who will be The Witness? who will let the others know what really happened? who will keep the names alive of those who have suffered inexplicably?

the Holocaust will never be forgotten as an historical event... what i mean is... what are all the names involved? not just the names of the perpetrators. not just them.

i think of Sylvia Likens and i think of the 48 (known) victims of the green river killer. why don't we know their names? why aren't their names alive first inside our collected memory? why do we keep the names of those who have caused such suffering but not the names of those who suffered under their hand? it is the spectacle at work. the train-wreck. the twisted metal. the night-stalker smiling in the courtroom at his groupies. but as inexplicable as these horrors are, the way in which the victims die is just as inexplicable. most of us will not die under the hand of a serial killer. most of us will not know what it is to be tortured to death. most of us will not know what it is to be degraded so completely. this is a good thing. my point is, these sensational events extend further than the murderer. there are the people they killed. that circumstance is outside the bounds of the norm too.

and as a member of this culture, i am enraptured by these anomalies as well. i know the names of murderers but not the names of their victims. i too am captivated by the senselessness of atrocity. it isn't necessarily wrong or bad. but after the news break, after acceptance of these hard and sickening events has come, the work should not end. and it should extend beyond trying to figure out how a murderer is born. it should go further than attempting to understanding the inner workings of a psychopath. it should go in the direction of the victim as well. the life that was brought to an inexplicable, unthinkable stop. the real life redaction and dismissal of a human being. the massive, hateful swell of tragedy and pain that extinguished an individual life.

in a strange way, we do a sick honor to the "work" of a serial killer by keeping their name and not those of their victims.

i want to change this about myself. i want to change this about my life and the way i live it, the way i proceed. i want to choose to remember the LaBiancas instead and to think of them FIRST.

who will carry the word? who will remember? who will be a witness? and who will listen to the witness?

i would like to listen.

there are stories in the world that ask nothing of us, except simply to be heard. an end to shame and secrecy and humiliation and the intolerable pain of being made to suffer alone and in silence.

i will never know, from personal experience, what Sylvia Likens went through. i will never know, i hope, what the last moments of JonBenet Ramsey's life was like. i will never know the things that Elsie saw and felt. i hope, beyond all words i hope, to not die in a state of such terror, humiliation, and pain. i do hope to remember the names of those who have.

drawing Sylvia Likens' portrait has brought about a disruption, a shaking down of previous ideas and fears about art and life and hope and what i can do. i can choose to remember the victims and to give their names back to them. if all it is is an utterance, then i will take the time and opportunity to utter, to whisper, and if need be, cry out. i want to return them to their real names, not just whose victim they were.

it is true that the identities of the murderer and their victim are linked. inseparable inside the moment when death was caused. but there was a different identity prior to that moment. the act or moment of death is not the absolute identity of a human.

some ghosts just want to be acknowledged. some pain just wants to be noticed. some wounds will never heal and some horrors are so great that they defy explanation. and these horrors that defy explanation are also, sadly, unpreventable. the people that fell under such atrocity need to be remembered too.

we need to carry the word for them. i do. and maybe that's the shift. maybe that's the turn my practice has taken and has been taking for a long, long time... a way to prepare myself, to become able to carry such a word? whatever it is... i will try my best to find a way to become strong enough to draw their portraits and give their names back to them, no matter how long it takes.

sylvia likens

Lamb
30" x 22"
graphite on paper
angela simione, 2010

round 1. i will definitely be drawing her again. i haven't captured her exactly right but it's still a powerful image. i will proceed faithfully. she deserves the highest level of respect, attention, and care.

this day...

the trouble with winter is that the days are far too short. the sun is down and gone. 6 o'clock and already black outside. and cold.

i painted today. i crocheted beanies for me and my sweetie. i made a great big dinner and played with my dog. and now with a full belly, i'm going to crawl back in to my fleece footie pajamas, crawl in to bed, and crawl further still in to my collection of little morbid fairy-tales and nursery rhymes.

did you know that on this day 29 years ago, john lennon was murdered? i was born 3 months and 5 days earlier, robbed from the start. and i send up my small prayer for yoko and his children- that their hearts are light and singing today, full of fond remembrances and hope.

sudden, unexpected...

then out from under the bed, she stood up and said, "look at me".

this is elsie.

i've been trying to draw her for months. here and there, only every so often, sketching her shadows.

lost children are hard to draw. their story creeps in to you and stays. stays deep.



Alpha (study)
11" x 7.5"
mixed media on paper
angela simione, 2009


she was Henry Darger's muse. his broken heart.

weak stomach...

i am becoming less and less able to handle any type of gore in movies. my sweetie and i just finished watching The Flock and i pretty much spent the majority of the film in the other room; which sucks because it really did seem like a great movie and i love claire danes (what girl doesn't?), but after researching the deaths of sylvia likens and jon benet ramsey this week, i just couldn't handle it at all.

i'm usually pretty squeamish when it comes to blood, in real life or not, but today i felt like i might actually throw up. i had to run out of the room with my ears plugged so i couldn't hear the movie either. it just no longer seems like fiction once you've read real-life torture and murder stories which, sadly, is part of the job at this point in my practice. luckily, the research hasn't desensitized me... something i was initially afraid would happen. if anything, it's made me more compassionate, more understanding, and more ethical in my daily dealings with people... which is the whole point of the work in the first place.

and my one big complaint with google- please don't let autopsy photographs pop up in an image search. those images are supposed to be housed in the 18 and older section of crime websites and the like. not good. not good at all. by the time i paged passed the fifth one i was ready to lock myself in the bathroom and cry until i passed out.

brewing...

just about 1 in the morning... a pot of coffee brewing and a whole bunch of ideas swirling in my head. i think it's safe to say my health has returned. enough at least to dive back in to my beloved night-owling. i missed my nights of smudging graphite and spilling ink and smearing oil. what's not to love about an art studio? room of one's own, indeed! and i am thankful every day to have it. just sitting in my own space surrounded by my own tools and my own books and my own stupid little nic-naks feels great and precious and miraculous even. and above all else, it is safe. a protected space where i am king. i can do what i want and there's no apologies necessary. it's been a big help the last couple days while i've struggled to get over this sickness and start doing some more hard-hitting, risky work. the drawing i posted last was fairly difficult even though i've had the idea to do it for quite some time. it's hard work to do... to literally tape a small child's mouth shut is no easy task even if it is "just" a drawing...

there have been plenty of images that i feel a bit damaged by, haunted by, sickened by... and i'm not just talking about art. there have been tons of advertisements that have offended me to such a deep degree that sometimes it's taken quite a bit of work (and time) on my part to shake it off and get back to my own life. images have power. and images can do violence. in the case of this last drawing, the role was reversed and i did violence to the image. i spent some time drawing a lovely, academic rendering and then pulled out a roll of duct tape and destroyed it. i shut it up. i made it a victim. not an easy thing to do to the image of a someone who died a horribly violent death. not easy at all and i still feel a bit fucked up by the experience. i wanted to highlight the loss of HER. she was silenced in such a hateful, violent, unspeakable way that i guess that's what i wanted to get at... somehow... the unspeakable loss of her... the quick violence done to something cherished and beautiful and admired... silenced... undone... without all the drama and media frenzy and judgemental spectacle, the sensationalism... just the loss of a child, a daughter... and what a horror it is.

Anonymous Girl 5

15" x 11"
graphite and duct tape on paper
angela simione
2009

it felt violent laying the duct tape down across her mouth. it felt horrible and monstrous and unforgivable... exactly like what was done to her.

proof... (in progress...)

i haven't posted a picture of work in what feels like an extremely long time. i talk and talk and talk about painting but where's the work, right? walk the talk, art jerk! here you go...


(untitled for now because i think it needs more work maybe, possibly, probably)
15" x 11"
graphite, erasure, and acrylic on paper
2009

back on the anonymity trip (as if i ever got off) and am very happy with the results. i'm definitely going to keep working on this one and do a few more drawings like this in order to experiment further with redaction techniques. i bought a roll of black duck tape today to see how that would read rather than the painted stripe across the eyes... plus, duck tape connotes violence and that's pretty much what i'm trying to get at: forced anonymity, robbed identities, stolen lives, victimization, murder... bad stuff.

they call it a "transitional phase"...

well... in the interests of professionalism, i've actually created a website exclusively for artwork. it's got an artist statement and everything! which holds me to a standard somewhat but that's good. not all the work needs to make the cut.

i'll use this blog for what i originally intended it for: talking shop. now that i'm out of school, i'm a bit afraid of losing my awesome art vocabulary if i don't use it. it took me a long time to learn all that jargon and, hopefully, one day i'll be fluent in art-speak. i'll get my practice in here... feel free to correct me when necessary. i'll continue to post new work here for awhile and use this space to talk about my intentions as well as my reservations within my practice.


It's pretty clear to me that the work seems to have moved into a much darker space recently. my work has always been a bit dark and kinda creepy, but over the course of the last few months a certain shift has taken place. color has almost completely left the work (an aspect that many people have commented on) and i've also done a few full-face portraits which is extremely different from the cropped portraits i usually do. my love of minimalism is really starting to show through too (the fence drawings, for example).





i finished this painting about a week ago and, right now, i think it's the best thing i've ever done. in this piece, two bodies of work have finally come together. the girl on the tire swing is Jon Benet Ramsey. she has been a subject of a lot of my paintings.

my desire to paint her has always been an attempt to restore her humanity. i don't care about all the beauty queen stuff, i care that she was a little girl who was assaulted and murdered.

but by looking at the painting, there is really no way to know that it's a painting of Jon Benet Ramsey. it isn't titled that way, the fence obscures her face, and one would have to look back through my work of the last year in order to learn the identity of the "Anonymous Girl"... which is great. the story is much longer and sordid than what i'll write here.

it could be anyone's daughter on that tire swing... and that's exactly how i want these paintings to be read. but it wasn't everyone's daughter, ligatured and body dumped in the corner of that basement. one family suffered this horror.

the fence is my impossible attempt to protect her- not only from her murderer, but from us as well: the watchers. by refusing to paint her the way the media did, by presenting her as exactly what she was - a little girl - i intend to highlight her loss.


above:
Anonymous Girl #3
16" x 12"
oil on canvas
2008

angela simione

Shura 6

30" x 22"
gouache on paper
2008

some new stuff i've been working on...

siblings. shadows.
40" x 30"
oil on canvas
2008



dahlia 1
11" x 14"
oil on canvas
2008

Shura 3

30" x 22"
mixed media on paper
2008