Tag Archives: Drawing

New Trading Cards: Boat in Cove and Cat on Rug

2.5 inches by 3.5 inches Cat on Braided Rug,  drawing in colored pencil
2.5 inches by 3.5 inches Cat on Braided Rug, drawing in colored pencil

Wethersfield Cove Row Boat ATC

ATC card of cat on Braided rug done with Caran D’ache Luminance pencils. Best pencils available but you pay for them!

Colored pencils
Colored pencils

Also an ATC card, 2.5 by 3.5 in size, surrounded by a black mat and brown frame. This boat was pulled up on the shore of the wethersfield cove and was resting on the wooden slat of a railed fence.

This last picture of my Caran D’ache five dollar pencils… Because of their expense I make a big fuss about how to sharpen them. I used to  use an electric sharpener because it was convenient, but the pencils were seater up immensely and wastefully so. Now I use a prismacolor pointer for the leads. (In case you would not, the one on the left is made from Dad’s ? I dunno, but I would love to see hatt  picture framed and given to the, first..lI will give you a good photo and sculpture from the other book.

OK I am down for the count. Gotta of to sleep NOW.

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Reaching Out…Will I get past this?

GUILTY AS CHARGED!
GUILTY AS CHARGED!

All I want to say is that someone connected to me died on Saturday and I have reason to believe it was suicide.  This is what I wrote to four people:
“The assistant building manager —– died — i am certain it was suicide — Saturday…i feel to blame, to blame, to blame. It is not that i knew or could have helped her, no, i feel like i caused her to kill herself. I’m shaking in –what? — terror, something! Even the music on Pandora is blaming me. What have i done?”

For hours there was no reply. I located two cigars in the bottom of an old purse, knowing what I had to do…I planned to place this photo:

Fire to Set something or someone alight...Me?
Fire to Set something or someone alight…Me?

and let fate determine the consequences, both what eventuated in terms of the voices and what happened after that. All I knew is that even Pandora “radio” is blaming me for the death — suicide as  I suspect — and I do not know what to do. I have already been responsible for two suicides of friends. How can I take this again>???

Then my shrink brother wrote me back, after I thought he was long ago in bed and asleep. I quote him in part: “you feel guilty for taking care of yourself. I hope that makes sense. I know it applies to me, so I’m not just saying it. Let it go. You had nothing to do
with her death. It’s sad, if it indeed was suicide, but just leave it at
that. I do think it’s more than symbolic that the person you’re guilty about was the manager of the building you hope to leave for good soon.”

Then he suggested that I take an Ativan (for a change?) and go to sleep. I wasn’t going to, I was going to do something that was ordered of me, and which I felt was essential. But I feel a little less alone, and feel as if I can hang on another night. At least he didn’t get angry and tell me I am not his “top priority”…as if I needed that rammed down my throat ever or again.

I may not make it all night, but if I can sleep it would help a lot. I barely slept last night at all and all these songs on the Bruno Mars’ station are getting to me. I am crying because of how bad I feel…

Will I get through the night? Only the future can tell. I will take the Ativan, against my better judgement, and I already took the half that I refused of Geodon, much against my judgement because otherwise I would be blamed for everything  that happens from now on. I do not need the Geodon, but I know what the nurse will say if I refuse it. Until I get to Vermont and then I am free to do what I choose, and if that means — well, I won’t go there right now.

Thank you for listening, if anyone out there really is — either there or listening.

This is what the voices really instructed me to do...
This is what the voices really instructed me to do…

P

Poem about Radical Forgiveness

 

Forgiveness or anger? Its your choice....
Forgiveness or anger? Its your choice….

TO FORGIVE IS…

To begin and there is so much to forgive

for one, your parents, one and two,

out of whose dim haphazard coupling

you sprang forth roaring, indignantly alive.

For this, whatever else followed,

innocent and guilty, forgive them.

If it is day, forgive the sun its white radiance

blinding the eye;

forgive also the moon for dragging the tides,

for her secrets, her half heart of darkness;

whatever the season, forgive it its various assaults

— floods, gales, storms of ice —

and forgive its changing; for its vanishing act,

stealing what you love and what you hate,

indifferent, forgive time;

and likewise forgive its fickle consort, memory

which fades the photographs of all you can’t remember;

forgive forgetting, which is chaste and kinder

than you know; forgive your age and the age you were when happiness was afire in your blood

and joy sang hymns in the trees;

forgive, too, those trees, which have died;

and forgive death for taking them, inexorable  as God; then forgive God His terrible grandeur, His unspeakable Name

forgive, too, the poor devil for a celestial falll no worse than your own.

When you have forgiven whatever is of earth, of sky, of water, whatever is named, whatever remains nameless

 

forgive, finally, your own sorry self, clothed in temporary flesh,

the breath and blood of you already dying.

Dying, forgiven, now you begin.

 

by Pamela Spiro Wagner in “We Mad Climb Shaky Ladders” (Cavakerry Press 2009) also featured in “Divided Minds: twin sisters and their Journey through  schizophrenia.”

Hospital Seclusion Room…plus

Hospital Seclusion Room
Hospital Seclusion Room

 

When I was at New Britain General Hospital in the spring of 2014, the security guards stripped me naked and left me in the freezing and barren seclusion room…This is a depiction of a younger woman largely because no one gives a damn about what happens to a 61 year old woman anywhere..but the seclusion room is pretty danged accurate.

 

Old Movie Star in conte crayon and charcoal
Old Movie Star in conte crayon and charcoal

Pencil Art done under Barbaric Conditions at Hospital of Central CT: Brutal Aversive Conditioning.

CLICK ON THE PICTURES TO ENLARGE THEM.

 

There were few rewards for behavior that toed the line at New Britain General Hospital (HOCC). Mostly it was punishment. If I was found with even a stub of a forbidden pencil, I was carried off to the Supermax seclusion cell, stripped naked and left alone.

 

At that point, being teeth-chatteringly blue with cold, I would swat a nurse in such a way that she would feel assaulted and bring on the goon squad of “I want to hurt someone today” guards to put me in four point restraints.

 

Why would I induce this? Because then they would at least cover me up afterwards with the mercy of a sheet, for modesty not warmth mind you, and I would beg for a blanket in vain. But at least my body would be protected from head to toe from the blasts of the A/C up full bore, and I could rest after I had had screamed out my lungs and my despair for a lonely twenty minutes or more.

 

No one cared, no one heard or paid any attention. The doors were double, and the cell was utterly soundproof. NO one ever even knew I was locked in there. When my screaming was too heart-wrenching for the softer ones of the staff down the hall in the room where they had retired to, they simply turned down the monitor and intercom so they didn’t have to listen.

 

I know, because I heard when the telephone rang, telling the person sitting outside the inner door they could turn it back on now (after I had quieted down). This was brutality of the nth degree. But they always called it treatment for safety, though I mentioned the CMS regs to the security guards one day as they were inflicting their usual pain in order to bring me to the room, and they stopped in their tracks.

“You’re kidding,” one said, “Its true that the only legal reason for seclusion is Imminent Danger to self or others?” (I had been brought there for disturbing the peace…)

 

I nodded, Look it up. She looked gravely at the others. but proceeded o do what she had been ordered to do anyway. And I proceeded to behave in a wildly immodest and terrified fashion likewise…knowing I would be left alone and freezing for at least two to three hours, no matter how fast I calmed myself.

 

They didn’t care. it was PROTOCOL…

 Angry at me, the doctor put me in Four point restraints the first day I was there, freezing cold and thirsty , in physical pain, and mute...No one responded to my plight.
Angry at me, possibly justifiably, for slamming the door on him (I had been brutally restrained and secluded in the ER for NO reason the night before) the doctor put me in four point restraints the first day I was there, freezing cold and thirsty , in physical pain, and mute…No one responded to my plight. This drawing picture got stained from my efforts to save it from the trash, because every time they put me in seclusion the nurses would tell Housekeeping to throw my art and journals away. “It ‘s just trash” they would tell the cleaning woman, even though I begged them to preserve my work. Finally I wised up and mailed out everything I wrote and drew to my friends on the outside. Also I should mention that my rage at Dr Balkunas stemmed from his walking in to my room and pointblank telling me he would not let me communicate with a pen and paper, and would not sit with me at all unless I spoke with him…so my  rage, both from the restraints the night before and his  brutal dismissal of me, just exploded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

No one could hear me or see me in the Supermax Seclusion Room, or so I felt..since no one ever communicated with me in my agony...
No one could hear me or see me in the Supermax Seclusion Room, or so I felt..since no one ever communicated with me  when I screamed in cold or pain…only to tell me to shut up or lie down.
This is what the voices really instructed me to do...
This is what the voices really instructed me to do…
The Behavioral Care Plan was so torturous that if I was found with even a magazine or a pencil stub I was put back to Square one, no matter how far I had come...this happened at least ten times in 3.5 weeks.
The Behavioral Care Plan was so torturous that if I was found with even a magazine or a pencil stub I was put back to Square one, no matter how far I had come…this happened at least ten times in 3.5 weeks.
They had a camera in my room, supposedly to monitor me all the time, so how did this happen? I thought they were telling me to do it!
They had a camera in my room, supposedly to monitor me all the time, so how did this happen? I thought they were telling me to do it! Nevertheless, all heads and backs are turned away from me, and the room is empty.but for the hospital bed, which could be conveniently used for four-point restraints and often was.

Impromptu Starbucks Sketch (Hey TexasTom, If you are brave enough, so can I be…!)

 

15 minutes no longer, and much of it was scrambling to photograph this before I gave it to the person...I heard her friends laughing about "what was that on her back...OH its her hoodie!" but what did I care? I know I can draw, and i only had a few minutes, with all of them squirming around and changing positions...THEy have NO idea how hard it is to draw someone in action!
15 minutes no longer, and much of it was scrambling to photograph this before I gave it to the person…I heard her friends laughing about “what is that on her back…OH its her hoodie!” but what did I care? I know I can draw, and i only had a few minutes, with all of them squirming around and changing positions…They have NO idea how hard it is to draw someone in action!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next one is a work in progress, about four point restraints and abject terror, if I can accomplish what I want to do in my usual pencil painting… SO far so good, but we will see.

 

This will be a picture of four point restraints, or wrist restraints coupled with an expression of abject horror, and more...If I can accomplish it with my usual pencil painting.
This will be a picture of four point restraints, or wrist restraints coupled with an expression of abject horror, and more…If I can accomplish it with my usual pencil painting. Right now, alas, the hands looks a little more like marionette type hands than really shackled though the restraints are drawn exquisitely accurately. 

New Portraits of African Americans by Pamwagg

 

Alice Walker - from PBS interview
  Alice Walker – from PBS interview

 

Eddy Joe LLoyd -- Innocent
Eddy Joe LLoyd — Innocent

 

Vincent Moto - Innocent, but still trying to expunge his record
Vincent Moto – Innocent, but still trying to expunge his record

 

Bob Moses - Interviewed by Julian Bond
Bob Moses – Interviewed by Julian Bond

Two more pictures from my Art Journal

Second try to capture her, but I will keep at it...
Second try to capture her, but I will keep at it…
I did not understand what or where this party was taking place as I drew it, until I noticed the menus...
I did not understand what or where this party was taking place as I drew it, until I noticed the menus…

 

I mostly drew this photo because I wanted to understand the mechanics of how to draw a crowded room, which I haven’t done much of before. It made me nervous so I simply forced myself to make mistakes and do it with permanent markers that gave me no option but to work with whatever I did “wrong”…

In 4-point Restraints for Disobeying the Rules at the Institute of Living, 2013

Look at the Caption and the Sign on the wall, both are important! This really happened...
PSYCHIATRIC PATIENT IN FOUR-POINT RESTRAINTS
A study in perspective...The tin foil on the wall didn't come out as well as I wanted it to, but the rest is okay..I hope...
A study in perspective…The tin foil on the wall didn’t come out as well as I wanted it to, but the rest is okay..I hope…
Study in pencil of plastic container of doodads
Study in pencil of plastic container of doodads
Study in pencil of plastic container of doodads
Study in pencil of plastic container of doodads
Bearing the Elephants is a spontaneous inkblot drawing...The black spots were inkssplotches that stimulated the drawing.
Bearing the Elephants is a spontaneous drawing…The black spots were inksplotches that stimulated the drawing. I think if you click on the drawing you may get more information…

So that is all I have to post today as I have too many errands to do before my meeting at the Institute of Living. Wish me luck everyone! I don’t expect much from them, I must say. Not much at all, after all, no one is going to acknowledge any wrong doing, much less apologize or even want to improve the situation. Not as at Natchaug where at least they gave lipservice, though it turned out to be lip service ONLY…to wanting to make Natchaug a better place. (Yeah, it turns out they — THe MFs at Natchaug Hospital who said they wanted me to speak — were just stringing me along, never did have any intentions of having me back to speak to the Medical staff, just mollifying and mollycoddling me as I sort of thought they were…Dr Deborah Weidner, the Natchaug Hospital CMO, is a politician as much as a psychiatrist and has to be, right? NO…but that is another subject altogether. I won’t be going back to Natchaug ever again either , not as a patient, as was understood. They don’t have a doctor who will see me, so why would I care about helping them improve? I did care. I do care about all their other patients and I care about their Mental Health Workers, who were the one group that really did do their jobs…and most of the nurses too…But the problem is the Admin of Natchaug doesn’t care, and the senior nursing staff is burned out and problematic…But I am not going to go there. Because THEY DON’T CARE that I care!)

Anyhow, as I said, I have errands to do and I guess I should maybe wash before I go to the IOL, seeing as how I haven’t done so since my trip to NC…It might be  a good idea, though a real drag. I hate it…I hate the very idea of getting under the running water and getting wet is such a hassle. But gotta keep up the appearance for today! After that, who gives a damn…

Okay, so thats it for now. I’m outta here. Thanks for all the FB support, guys. I will let you know how it goes.

Different kind of artwork for me: Car Picture for Tim

Okay, this is for the boys!

1956 Mercedes Benz 300c 4-door sedan: What can I say, except Tim owns one and it is truly a cool car, if you care about cars! Anyhow it is my very first car drawing, so I am rawther proud of it.

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Some sad news that I only feel able to share now, is that  I had to put my beloved cat of 17 years to sleep on Friday last…and it was truly awful. I didn’t understand that it would be so fast. The vet injected something in Eemie’s vein, and she lifted her head as if in curiosity — then put it down — I asked how long it would take, and the vet said softly, “She’s gone…” I burst into tears, having had no understanding that in fact she wasn’t curious, she had been taking her long last breath. Oh god, I miss her so. I keep wondering where she is when I get up in the morning, and when I get home from wherever I have gone out to, I feel that someone is missing, that I need to feed her, and find her… and then I realize I don’t have a companion any longer, that Eemie is no longer…I am tearful even as I write this, and I wish I could post the video that a friend made of us a week or two before she became seriously disabled. She was ill, yes, but you couldn’t really tell on the video since we just cuddle. I am so glad that the friend had the foresight to encourage it. Because now I have that to remember Eemie by. I know it wouldn’t mean much to anyone else. But like any doting grieving mother, I would post it because I still feel the grief and feel somehow that everyone else would want to see it too. (Which of course would be silly but the grieving do silly things. I know that.)

To lose Eemie on top of my father, Leo, and Joe too just exactly one year ago April 27th feels like really too many losses piled on top of one another. But one gets through or breaks and I cannot let that happen. I do believe that I am strong enough in general to get through it, and while I did take Haldol for a few days it had more to do with the Middlesex stress (yes, a little to do with Eemie I admit) than anything else…Okay, it did have to do with Eemie, but I think without Middlesex coming up I might have weathered Eemie better.

But I got through it and I stopped taking Haldol on Monday, haven’t needed it since then, or have slogged through without it. Did the car picture since then, so things could not have been too too bad. Artwork is always good therapy anyway. Better than drugs if I can get myself out of bed and organized enough to do it.

By the way, my art show is up and on exhibit at the WETHERSFIELD LIBRARY right now. I have work on three walls, plus the display case, for those of you who live near enough to Wethersfield or Hartford to stop by and see it. If not, you can always check out Photobucket and see what is there, though you lose a great deal by not seeing things “in person” of course. It cannot be helped, naturally!

Enough for now. I hope last night’s post was not too negative, not too mean-spirited and revengeful. I was very angry, and very upset. The very idea that the director of the Middlesex Hospital psychiatric unit said anything at all, rather than simply remaining silence just incensed me. I think that was a grave mistake, and he likely regretted it afterwards. I suspect that the CEO probably told him that it was not something he should have indulged in…But what he said is said, and it only retraumatized me if anything. The notion that he, who wasn’t even there during the episode, and ought to have been appalled, simply took the side of my torturers was to me itself disgusting and appalling. But he will get his comeuppance, one can only hope, and I won’t have to do anything about it, since presumably the Joint Commission and the DOJ will do it all.

Enough of that. I am really tired and need to eat something. Ta ta for now.

Artwork and a Word about my Self-Portraits

I wanted to write a bit about the artworks that I posted yesterday without any explanation. The first one was the only one I planned in any sense of the word, and even then I cannot say I really knew what I was going to do when I started it. My process in these drawings is to simply start with an image, say, in the first one, I started by drawing an eye, and then to see where my subconscious takes me. Once I have established enough  images  – just a few usually — that are coherently related to one another on the paper (or not) then I look to see what is in the “negative” spaces, which fill up with images too. You can see this most clearly in the middle  and third works.  I know how the pictures were made, since I drew them, but in looking at them objectively now, I can see that an observer might not see anything conspicuously “unintended.” And of course, what does “unintended” mean when it comes to the subconscious?

 

But in the picture I will post below, this “technique” if you will, predominates. (You either like it or you hate it) I hesitate to call it a technique because that sounds like something consciously adopted, where I feel it simply reflects an unconscious change, something that happened co-incidental with Joe’s final days and then took on a life of its own after the trauma of his death. But let me post the picture I am talking about, the one that I started on the very day they took him off the ventilator, and then I will continue.

 

Death comes in brilliant colors -- look more closely to see what is there.

All I can say about this is that a person here is cutting the cord that is connected to a heart and a pot and is not plugged in…and the person with the scissors is a little excited by this in a way that implies pleasure…I am saying no more, except to reiterate that I drew it, or started it the day Joe died or more accurately was killed.

 

After that, I started doing more and more “honest” pictures, pictures where I did not try to please anyone, but was simply drawing and painting what I felt like. The next one after this one was the Beauty SLeeping with Bugs one, which was in the post yesterday. And then the self-portrait series, which began with the earlier Dead Meat one, Goon Squad: First Responders. In that notebook, I endeavor to draw only “self-portraits” though not likenesses. I am not sure what to call them, conceptual self-portraits perhaps? The second one is a very loosely drawn portrait of me as an animal, done in a different sketchy style (I haven’t photographed it or I would post it.) The third is Pam as Ornament, which I will post below, and once again I had nothing in mind when I started it, except the concept. The Santas came out of nowhere, esp the one that is only a head on a tray!

 

I guess I have nothing more to add for now.

 

I have been working on my memoir, which I have tentatively titled “BlackLight: a Memoir of Madness and One Woman’s Struggle for Recovery” — so far after only about 5 days work I have 27 pages done (more, really, just not organized and polished). Would be happy to hear any comments or suggestions for a better title (which I believe is a request I have made previously).

 

Thanks all.