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Author: Sandy Sue
One of the items on my IPR Bucket List is to attend a Teesha Moore art retreat. I found Teesha years ago when I first started using rubber stamps. Hers were grungy, and weird, and everything I loved. As you can see from the link, she makes bizarre-o collages and art journals, and held Artfest annually near her home in Issaquah, Washington.
First she quit making rubber stamps (boo!), then she quit offering the retreats. I never had the funds to get out there anyway, but I always hoped—you know—someday. So, she stayed on my list, because weirder things have happened (like me going to London last year).
Yesterday, she sent out an email to announce that Artfest had risen from the dead and would I like to register? Boom! Done! Later, as I scrolled through the information about Artfest, I realized some Cosmic Convergence or Synchronicity Faerie worked unseen in the ethers, because the theme of the retreat is:
Calling All Superheroes to Unite
As Teesha says on her website:
It is my intention that by the end of Artfest Rising, we will all be flying out of there with our capes flapping in the wind and our confident faces to the skies from our newfound understanding of ourselves, our powers and our place in this world….not to mention an amazing super-sized journal packed full of the coolest artwork around!
What feels even more serendipitous is that I’ve been contemplating my super powers recently. I know most people don’t consider mental illness a super power, but take my Clark Kent glasses for a moment and have a look-see.
There’s Bipolar Disorder, a cross between The Dark Knight and The Human Torch. This is the veteran, the Bad-Ass, the muscle.
Then, there’s Binge Eating Disorder. She’s been around a long time, but never identified, never given her full cred in the super power department—sort of like Fatale, one of the Dark X-Men. Deceptively evil—strong as the horse she’s usually eating.
But the super power that’s come out to play recently is one I know little about. She’s a Mistique, a chameleon, blending into her surroundings for the sneak attack. This, of course, is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She’s played me for a while now, posing as memory, setting trip wires that jettison me into past trauma with anxiety and flashbacks. I’m not used to thinking of her as part of the Superhero Pantheon, but this girl’s got game.
These three (four, really—Bipolar could never be content with one aspect) might seem like a hinderance, a handicap, but look again at their power. They’ve protected me, kept me safe. Sure, there’s a price. And the bill never gets settled. But the more I learn about them, their origin stories, their special abilities, the more I can see their beauty. I’m making room for them, inviting them in instead of locking them out. It’s a tentative truce, but we’re making progress.
I can’t wait to take them all to Artfest next spring to see what happens.
We’re on an Adventure.
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