During my thesis year of college, I was completely and utterly stuck. After three years in art school, working within the bounds of assignments, all I wanted was to let loose and create what I wanted. But I had no idea what that was; I kept reaching into my idea-place and pulling out nothing. This thesis needed to be perfect, a representation of myself as a person and an artist, so I had to figure out what made me tick, and fast. The thing is, I had some repressed, unresolved trauma. And when you put someone like that in a room by themselves for a month and tell them to think about themselves, interesting things happen.
Little flashes came to me — thoughts, memories, emotions — but nothing I could use, because I couldn’t explain what I was thinking or why I felt the way I did. At that point I just needed a thesis topic, and during a desperate search for ideas I suddenly felt a presence near me, followed by the sensation of hands resting gently on my shoulders. I felt a message then, in the back of my mind. “Spring is here. It’s time to leave.” Over the next few days, I was bombarded with pomegranate imagery. I took it as a sign. Continue reading