When I see, but cannot understand, I relate somehow to blindness depicted in the arts. The subjects of my paintings are kind enough to reach back and take hold of my hand and pull me along.

I have a thread of blindness running through the years of my life.

This morning I determined that my preoccupation with seeing (which results in painting, among other activities) but not understanding (a wee bit of what we now call autism, maybe?) results in a kind of sightlessness that has lived within my shadow side as long as I can remember.

As a child, I was fascinated by several Pre-Raphaelite paintings, especially john Everett Millais’ “The Bridesmaid”, “The Blind Girl” and Waterhouse’s “The Lady of Shallot”.

In the case of “The Bridesmaid” (at top), I believe it was partly because the subject strongly resembled my mother, but I also believe there is a similar emotion expressed in all the pictures. The women are looking but not seeing, whether truly or metaphorically. Their inside world is overpowering the outside world. Was it prospicience? Have I always felt the dissonance between my internal and external realities?

My favorite story was “The Day Boy and the Night Girl” by George MacDonald. In this little known story, a boy and girl are experimentally raised by a witch, the boy never to see night or darkness, and the girl to never experience day or light. Of course, they accidentally meet and it’s a superior fable/fairytale story which I won’t spoil by saying more about. I’m hoping to find time to create artwork around it.

I’m deeply sensitive, and I’ve slowly learned that sometimes I project that. It’s not real for everyone in the same way. As an adult I’ve become aware that I could be on the autism spectrum and that’s okay. It’s helped me to be more gentle with myself. 

Is this something you can relate to?