Category: Art & Quilts

  • Ladybug Medicine.

    Making Art for someone, is like being a surrogate mother…giving birth to something that isn't yours.  Perhaps all of Art is this way.  

    I began this quilt with the intent of giving it away…and when it was done, I wanted to keep it around for awhile.  Mostly I enjoy the process of starting from nothing and watching it develop, I enjoy the ride.  

    Some quilts, (my Story Line) have an immediate resonance with me…feel that they are part of the journal of my life.  Others just are fun and delightful friends I played with for awhile and I am okay saying good-bye.

    Others.

    Well others are ladies I would like to hang around with…longer.

    Which is the case with these two dancing on the shore.  I loved their connection or energy and even their challenge to capture them on film.

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    It was as if the wind swirled and danced with them.

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    It is like something special that passes too quickly, or a moment you are unable to grasp.  

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     I looked up the spiritual meaning of "Lady Bug" –

    "Ladybug's medicine includes carrying the golden strand that leads to the centre of the universe, past lives, spiritual enlightenment, death and rebirth, renewal, regeneration, fearlessness, protection, good luck, wishes being fulfilled, protection."

    May this quilt inspire those who gaze upon it…and give them the ladybug medicine!

     

  • Sisterhood…

     

    Another quilt in the spotlight, another piece of my healing, another growth spurt for my lady and I.  Thank you David Cowardin and Lola Visuals.

    I loved these ladies dancing together in their own uniqueness, separate but together…the sisterhood of being a woman, striving for her authenticity or to simply know herself.  Dancing with her truth; the darkness and the Light.

    Feelings of being herself and part of some larger group.  Okay to be herself and being accepted for it.

    The emptiness I felt upon learning my past was more lies than truth, was to become a stranger to myself. 

    To then find myself loving myself and being able to be with others as a Me, that is recognizable to me, was profound.

    Just simply remarkable how my lady would show my development and it brought such peace and hope; progress.

     

     

     

  • Beauty of Life

    I don't know what is more unsettling, the fact that I was so affected by having to make do with a car on the mail route OR how quickly I became used to it.

    My first day of delivering mail from the left-hand drive vehicle without four wheel drive, overwhelmed my inner peace.  It makes everything 50% harder than a normal mail day with a right-hand drive jeep.

    From getting in, to sitting strangely, to struggling to reach each mail box, to getting stuck, because one tire was just a bit too deep in the snow….all made up for a day of frustration, reducing me to a two-year old wanting to throw a tantrum.  I resented being put upon…I just wanted my jeep.

    The second day, I was much more at 'home' in the vehicle…and this was equally as odd.  Showing me how quickly we can become comfortable with the uncomfortable.

    The first day I felt the concept of dysfunction and its cost on your inner world as well as the frustrations in the outer world, and how it creates a cloudy environment in which you live.  Just 'making do' is the ingredients that makes turmoil.

    I understood how important it is to have the proper tools for a job.

    I also could see how we can 'make do' in many areas of life…by letting go of what is optimal.

    And worse how we can adjust ourselves to be okay with much less than perfect situations.

    Without the struggle of making do, my work life with the Jeep moves with ease…and there is very little emotional or stress as I go about my route. 

    When I experienced the make do world, I know that there are many folks in the world whose lives are at the pressure point of exploding, due to having to make do.

    It helped me see the mountain of 'make do' my childhood was under…and the weight of it blows my mind.

    I am not sure being raised in a home where there is so much not working, you would be able to discern it being stressful; for it is normal.  Everything is an effort to make it work.  

    In a family of 14, the money was not enough, the space was not enough, the attention not enough…add to that a strict religion and abuse and you have an impossible environment for gentle raising.

    The stress on the parents is one thing, but the cost on the children is more. For we had no choices and were suffering abuse in a hostile environment of making do.

    I used to think it was an admirable trait to be able to complete a task with less than perfect tools or in a situation out of control…to not need the perfect tool, made me stronger/wiser/more proficient. Now I can see its cost upon me.

    Being the second oldest, I was my mother's helper; her right hand.  We struggled against a tide of 'not enough' and then too much.  Not enough tools and way too much work.

    It would be a challenge to run a household of 14 children with money and proper parenting…it is mayhem with the things we were up against. 

    As I thought of the climate in my childhood home and of my childhood, I could see how I internalized the lacks as mine.  How I drew in the stress and how it stole my life.  I survived, but I did not pay attention to me.

    What I wanted. My dreams.  My needs.  All were hidden behind the stress of the loud needs within the house.

    I now feel an almost allergic reaction to anything that resembles 'making do'.  

    Even a temporary detour there puts me into panic, resentment, and feelings of being out of control and knowing I MUST still make it work, somehow.  It reminded me of how I used to live.

    And then, the way it changed how I seen life.  I was unable to enjoy the fun things of life…while struggling to make do.  I came home drained.

    I know this is a thumbnail print of my childhood.

    With so much surviving going on, no room is left for the lighthearted dreaming. And even the kinder feelings never get a chance to bloom.  This I think, makes me the most sad.  To see a child so caught up in the struggle…that our soulful part of ourselves is stunted…severely.

    What I also believe, is that this soulful part is our true selves.

    The true self that gets neglected in order to survive.

    This is the most tragic loss of childhood abuse and neglect. 

    Where life's struggles take up life…neglecting the dreamer, the soul, the Art, the beauty of life.

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  • Fearless Acceptance!

    I love how David Cowardin has let each of my quilts get their day in the Sun.  Today, it is "Fearless Acceptance".  Thanks Lola Visuals…you make us look good!

      

    It is interesting that the Fearless Accepting…would appear to be to be without fear.  Instead you have to face that which you fear facing.  And, not only face, but accept. It is one thing to see something and turn away in disbelief, and quite another to see it and fully bring it in.

    To own it.

    To own the part of your legacy or heritage that is of the darkest part.  Easy to own the little family traits…like noses and feet with the family stamp. But to own the dysfunctional part…is to be drawn into a vortex of pain…the sea of a million tears.  One of which you don't believe you will ever see love, peace or joy again.  

    I love that this quilt was a vision ahead of me.  Like spot on the map to arrive at one day.  And, I love that I was fearless in believing it was there…while submerged in grief.

     

  • Mitten Tree Ladies on Film!

    David Cowardin and Lola Visuals released another segment of my filming…that we had done for "Call Me Mental"…me explaining my lady and how she sees her family in mismatched mittens; where she doesn't belong on a family tree, but on a tree of orphans.

    I love how she has risen to her new status…

     

     

     

  • “Laying it Down”

    While filming for "Call Me Mental" David and I went through each of My Story Line quilts that are hanging at Copper Country Mental Health.  

    He listened and recorded what each meant to me. I loved this part, for it is like looking at my wounded self and watching her grow.   

    I was very touched that he took the time to edit and will show case each quilt… Me and My Lady….My Story Line; quilt One.

     

    It is the prelude to the Lady; the thought and idea of what it means to be without an ego or labels…etc.  Little did I know, that it would not appear so nicely as a teeter-tooter…but more like an implosion.

    Thanks David Cowardin and Lola Visuals…What a great keepsake for me.

  • Shattered In My Mind.

    Yesterday the image of a darkened closet where we are talking and sharing but no one knows your name….and the outside where we see each other but rarely share our truths…stayed with me.

    The juxtaposition of never being with your truth and your face at the same time, let alone be with it with someone else…and ESPECIALLY with those you love.

    We somehow believe that our truths will not be embraced.

    And, we have learned this in our home environment growing up.  Especially where one parent was abusing and the other looking away.  We are left to pretend in the light of day, we are okay and nothing is wrong.  And we keep our truth hidden, silent and feel its shame.

    What I have been able to re-experience, is this phenomena.

    Except, I refuse to go back into the closet or to hide my face or not say my name.

    The filming for the documentary has solidified the wrongness of anonymous…for it mirrors abuse and perpetrates its shame.

    What is so odd is that those whose lives are lived half in the closet are not hidden at all.  For their behaviors and actions are clearly speaking out shame.

    We only think we can hide our truths, but our truths keep showing…in how we present ourselves, what we will share or not share, what we are comfortable with and what we are not…who we support and who we steer away from. What we call kind and love and what we think it is.

    There was no part of my life that abuse didn't touch. No part that wasn't spared.  Even in my quilts, my abuse was showing….

    The religion my mother chose supported her 'forgive and forget' life style, where you don't have to deal with abuse; but bless it away and get on with living.

    What I know, is that the truth isn't hidden, it isn't in the closet away from reality.  There is no place the truth can hide.  It is always showing. We for many reasons, refuse to see it and embrace it and live with its contents.

    Someone asked me last night as I was recounting my experience with being filmed and the talk of the church came in and or family and it was asked, if they believe it happened?

    I do believe they do believe IT happened.

    That Ray Huhta is a pedophile. But, what is so curious is how they continued to live like he had not shown this truth. Like IT didn't happen.  

    I did start to respond, "how so many didn't believe it…" But, what I know, is that they did not respond to it…for reasons unknown or known.

    To fully accept it, means your world will flip completely upside down.  Few chose this route. 

    What makes me appear mental, is I allowed my life to flip.  I flipped out.  I could no longer be separated from my truth…I was dying and I didn't even know it. Dying as the girl who would hide her feelings and her emotions…cramming them in this very tight space; away from reality.

    Perhaps the closet exploded…

    The closet doors were shattered in my mind.

     

  • Look again at yourself looking at me.

    First I want to thank and give great appreciation for those who dare stand by me. Who have listened and heard my words.  The ones who have understood my journey and stayed with the content of my pain and not rushed to the outer limits discussing the reasons for my parent's inability to parent.  But, for those who have stayed by me and attended my words, my pain and my art.

    The ones who have followed me along…weak and confused, hurt and angry and watched and encouraged my growing.

    Folks who have walked with me through my darkest times…are now able to "Like" my episodes on Facebook.  I know that this will seem childlike, but sadly the Like button is so telling of the content of who you are.

    It is the tap on the shoulder, the eye contact and encouragement…especially when it is so deeply personal.  

    The 'unliked' folks are teaching me great things.

    I am learning how it is to speak up and not be heard.  Or to have the conversation be re-directed to a space three steps removed from the actual wound.  AND, how it feels to be a child trying to get someone to respond, to stand up with you.

    It is not the silence of your enemies that affect you, but the silences of 'friends'.

    I feel that my voice is that of a child, a victim who is daring to break the silence and I am just shocked at how non-impacting it is.  How life appears to go on as usual.

    In the same group discussion, the annoymous shield was broken, and it felt like someone had inadvertantly opened the closet door.

    The full thrust and heart of the intentions behind the "Call Me Mental" project IS to break the stigma.  

    Stigma is the closet.

    Stigma is the silence.

    Stigma is not so much the silence of those who watch me come out of the closet BUT those who are in the closet wanting to remain hidden.

    I am fascinated by this all.

    How not only do I no longer fit back in the closet, but there are folks who are 'out' but that I feel are just pretending and who really would be more comfortable with me being silent.

    I am not even sure I can articulate the experience of breaking the silence and hearing silence…

    What this feels like to have an artful presentation done and for the discussion NOT to be on the subject of the episode?  It is like if they were to watch a film on quilting but talk about the person who typed up the pattern.

    Honestly, I am blown away.  By those who have dared stand with me….and the silence after I broke the silence, again.

    And, how some feel we are further along and that we will not repear the history of my family….Really?  

    I can only visualize the trauma of being traumatized and to have it all ignored. For life to quickly return to normal, for the good folks to overlook and avoid any contact with the wounded child.  For the subject to be shut down…or never even begun.

    Being set aside untouched.

    It is these feelings of not being touched, of them holding back and away that make us feel that something is wrong with us.  That we are now untouchable and for sure unspeakable.

    We become ostracized and the things being discussed are not even close to the heart of the matter…abuse of a child.

    We are too yucky to touch…and talk to…or "like".

    I can't make me touchable. 

    I can't make me kind.

    By them staying away from me, they are showing me who they want to be near.

    I know, to the depth of my soul, this behavior for whatever reason IS the source of our stigma.

    We feel what you all can't do…and internalize it.

    I refuse to feel ashamed, because you are ashamed to be with my wounds.

    You too, will not define me.  Just as I refused to carry the shame of my father, I also refuse to carry the shame of those who can't touch me.

    I know the walk now of the untouchables. 

    I know it isn't our 'sin' to carry.

    I am giving this back to you all.

    It isn't the silence that I have broke, but that I am asking you to look again at yourself looking at me.

     

     

     

     

  • My Episode.

     

    Well Here it is!  Thanks David Cowardin and Lola Visuals, and NDC of Duluth and Carolyn Phelps for her kind words!  It has been nothing but a great experience!  Thank each of you for being you!

    May this project go on and inspire, challenge and touch folks in ways we can't even imagine! 

    You can read Carolyn's response to my episode and her thoughts at http://callmemental.com/episode-2-beth-jukuri/

    I feel that this is a full circle moment…where I am being affirmed and supported and tag teamed with folks who have the same interest as mine…removing the stigma of being abused and its affect of mental illness, replacing it with Self Love.

    I am proud to be part of "Call Me Mental"!

     

  • What will it cost you?

    The "Afterword to the Original Edition" at the end of "Thou Shalt Not Be Aware; society's betrayal of the child, Alice Miller writes.

    "Before sending the manuscript of this book to the publisher, I gave it to four collegues to read who had shared in the development of my ideas through numerous discussions. The first one said that after our many conversations the material was no longer new to him and he was able to confirm my hypothesis on the basis of his practice. This reaction pleased me very much, since it indicated there was little likelihood that mine would be a lone voice among psychoanalysts. Another analyst said the scales had fallen from her eyes when she read my case presentations.  She was relived to be able to cast aside the ballast from her training that she had never fully accepted and give more credence than before to her own findings and perceptions.  The third colleague reacted the same way many parents did to my previous books, i.e., with guilt feelings.  She said if my arguments were correct, that would mean she had made grave errors; she recalled patients who, as she now thought, had been desperately attempting to articulate their traumas, whereas she had always felt obligated to regard what they said as an expression of their childhood fantasies and desires.  I could only tell my colleague that I had felt this way for a long time, too, and without that experience I would not have been able to write this book. Whether someone reacts to my views with sorrow and guilt feelings, or even with total denial, depends on his or her own history."

    "My fouth colleague said she felt as though blinders had been removed from her eyes, but at the same time, now that she was seeing new connections, she was also feeling disloyal to her teachers, to whom she was grateful for a great deal and who had insisted that the drive theory was the central factor in analysis. Her observation gave me food for thought."

    "Both sorrow and a conflict of loyalties will undoubtedly be required of us if we are to recognize and come to terms with "poisonous pedogagy's"influence on our childhood and specifically on our training as analysts. But if we succeed in working through our sorrow, we shall gain the freedom to judge for ourselves and with this the possibility and the right to make use of our own eyes and ears and to take our own perceptions seriously."

    "The direction in which I have moved in writing this book as well as countless unfortunate childhoods I have read about in letters from my readers caused me to question how the truth could have remained hidden from me, too, for such a long time and what role the drive theory played in concealing it. It troubled me that so few of my colleagues were able to accompany me on my journey, and in trying to find the societal reasons for this, I came upon the drive theory, the Fourth Commandment, and the traditional methods of child-rearing, a combination of factors that explained the collective denial of childhood trauma. But this was my personal journey. My colleague's reactions showed me that the ways in which one can respond to new experiences can vary greatly; what led to a radical change of direction in my attempt to understand neurosis may elicit different responses in others.  How we integrate new insights into our existing fund of knowledge depends on our character, our age, and our previous experiences.  The discoveries I have made bear my own personal stamp and therefore cannot be prescribed for others.  but the hypotheses I have adopted cane be examined, again from a personal perspective, and can serve as a basis for new findings.  The purpose of this book is not to win support for my conclusions, for that would only encourage the uncritical stance I object to; rather, it is my hope that the findings I have presented here will challenge the readers to go on to make their own discoveries.  Alice Miller

    I love how she is willing to accept and to understand that most often it isn't the validity of her work that is in question, but rather the folks who read and listen to her.

    She sees herself, her childhood, her profession and her clients….and the circles we all live in and how it is we became who we are, but how then to end the cycle or patterns.  

    What a brilliant mind and daring soul…to step out and openly state where society has failed the child.

    I totally agree with her wholeheartedly. What she writes about is my experience.

    If the Alice Miller's books don't resonate, it is perhaps due to the learning you have been taught and/or your awareness of your childhood and its damage. 

    Alice Miller has the key to course correct the affects of abuse.

    While many hesitate to blame the parents and religion, and the therapies, Alice clearly isn't afraid to follow her conclusions. 

    You have to first see where the root cause of our mental illness began and find a therapist who is willing to bring you there.  If they have not seen their own lives clearly, they will not see yours. 

    Alice has given me so many affirmations and helped me to understand not only me, but the way society and the helping community, religion and family all play a part in you moving forward or keeping you in the dysfunction.

    While we are moving alone, we are bumping up against many folks whose fear of their own lives, will need you to stay down.

    Many will blame you for daring to up-end the social, religious and family traditions…and very few will look at the long held beliefs that they each carry.

    It isn't that I am speaking out so outlandishly, but rather that I am dancing upon their  sacred beliefs; the pillars they need to be who they are.

    My blog, my Art and my journey is a visual what Alice Miller writes about…

    My life is a clear example of what she found and also what she knows will right the individual that got flipped upside down in childhood.

    Her books are not for those who want to remain in the dark and in dysfunctional families.  They are for those of us who dare to be the change…to be aware.

    Mostly, what I feel is that most are not wanting to see…it isn't that I haven't written it clearly, but rather they want what they have now.  They are not willing to give it up.

    No matter its cost on the next generation and themselves…they are perfect living in the land of "Thou Shalt Not Be Aware."

    Thou shall not see me…not because I am brightly out here, but because of its cost in your lives to do so.

    What will it cost you?