Ctrl-Alt-Delete
The time has come for a reboot + healing, writing and becoming an artist.
Dearest reader,
Oh gosh, where do I start?
First, I should apologize for being away for so long. It’s been more than a year since my last missive, and while my absence has not been intentional, the strength required to step back into the light has escaped me until now.
Coping with a chronic condition and recovery from grave illness has not been a straight line. Physically, things have been going well. I was given a clean bill of health at the end of last year and aside from the ‘normal’ niggles that aging brings I seem to be doing OK on that front.
When it comes to my mental health, however, life has been much more challenging. Facing down death is not a new experience for me, but having that threat come from within knocked me around more than I’d like to admit. Life got really dark and for a while I lost the modicum of confidence that propelled me forward to begin writing my memoir and launching this newsletter in the first place.
If society is to be believed, once you dance toe to toe with the grim reaper and win, you become a totally different person. We’ve all heard the stories - the ‘you only live once’ epiphanies followed by headline grabbing feats of human triumph over untold adversity. I love these tales as much as the next person, but this wasn’t the case for me.
Unfortunately, there has been no flash of enlightenment; rather a plodding journey that initially made every decision seem like I was being dangled over a precipice between life and death. I couldn’t decide what to have for lunch, which route to take to the train station, which story I should write next, which medical bill to pay first... I was stunned into inaction - a headlight-struck wombat equipped with a healthy dose of medical PTSD and a body weakened to the point of breaking.
Instead of becoming roadkill, however, I started painting. At first it was just fields of blue across sheets of paper I’d torn down to size from a roll I’d saved from the trash a few years before. I’m not sure why I had the pot of heavy bodied Prussian Blue acrylic, but it was fit for purpose - that purpose being pure escapism. I did have some notion that I’d eventually fold and bind the pages together to make a quirky kind of notebook, but this nebulous end goal rapidly dissolved into an addiction to the process itself. As the paint travelled across the page, time slowed down and no decision making was required. The brush went where it wished.
This new found love shouldn’t have come as a surprise. I have spent my life looking at and appreciating art. I’ve searched out galleries, museums and artists in every place I’ve lived and travelled. I have boxes full of postcards bought at museum shops, enough art books to start a niche library and a tonne of supplies that I’ve collected and kept across ten international moves and never used (my oldest is a slim box of oil pastels I bought while living in Japan in the 90s).
My creativity wasn’t nurtured as a child when the only aptitudes I displayed were for daydreaming (AKA disassociating), teenage defiance and basic survival. Later, I scrounged enough self belief to pursue a career as a writer and photographer, but the idea of giving visual art a go seemed a step too far, despite what my subconscious was yelling and my husband was telling me. I’ll never forget lamenting to him after a visit to a gallery that I wished I was an artist. ‘Babe, you are an artist,’ he replied.
This match to my kindling became a full blown fire when I came across Michelle Armas. As is the algo’s want, Michelle and her art paused my Instagram scrolling long enough for me to invest into her joyful world full of creative abandon. My blue pages may have been my first steps into becoming an artist, but Catalyst, Michelle’s online community and weekly classes, has been the…erm…catalyst I needed to fully realize this dream for myself.
What was at first a way for me to have an outlet while I heal, has since morphed into another string to my professional bow. When writing was too hard, I painted instead. Music became geometric abstraction. Water became snow flurries, rockpool eddies and my main inspiration. I’ve been selling consistently (I remain gobsmacked!), and now have my first solo show scheduled in February in Sydney next year (details to come). Entitled Water Baby, I’ll be exploring my love of swimming, pools and the ocean.
Of course, lots more has happened since I last wrote, but this is my biggest and happiest news by far. And now I’ve got a lot of work to do. As well as preparing for this show, I have two others in the works. And I’m about to get back to writing Hostile Environments. The process of both I plan to once again share here.
Thank you so much for sticking with me - especially my paid subscribers. As a gift of gratitude (and to anyone new who chooses to upgrade to a paid subscription), I’ll be sending you a signed limited-edition print worth $150. I’ll be in touch about this separately.
In the meantime, onwards and upwards!
Kate
xxx
Often times, I read your essays and it's almost like reading my own history, minus living in interesting places, surviving a plane crash and surviving a life threatening illness. Oh wait... while not an illness, I did experience a severe allergic reaction at the beginning of lockdown that had my doctor telling me if <insert list here> happens, go to the hospital immediately or you will die. I don't have PTSD from the experience other than wondering if there are things in the natural world besides holly trees that can kill me if I touch them, besides mountain lions and the like.
Anyway... I'm just writing to tell you that you are an incredibly interesting person and you are a remarkable artist. You are likely a remarkable artist because you are so interesting. And it's refreshing and wonderful to see people like you in the world. I'm cheering you on as you make ready for your upcoming shows!
Thrilled to read your beautiful writing and (somewhat) patiently waiting for the next post. xoL