The Lucus

Added an About this project page. I hope you all take the time to read it.  Going forward I will try to not be afraid to tell my own stories.   

Trigger warnings: abuse/ rape 

http://thelucus.tumblr.com/aboutthisproject

This project started a long time, at least in my head it did, when I used to make art about how I was ‘dying’, how it felt to be put on antidepressants as a 13 year old, and when I made a painting about what it was like to watch my brother get beaten in the car on the way to school, for not getting a permission slip signed early enough.

The Traveler

“We have all been The Traveler, whether we knew it at the time or years later. We left our ponds, carrying only with us what self esteem we could to help us as we walked through the forest of our own thoughts.  

Some would pass each other in the Lucus, the beacon of light, their values crafted into walking staves or sometimes weapons held over their shoulders.  I never knew what they were moving on from. 

They never knew what I was fleeing, and only now do I, long after I had carved away the thick bramble that had overgrown my eyes.” 

Effort

“I came across a particularly overgrown part of the Lucus one day.  It was hot, unbearably so.  The fruit hung over ripe from their trees with an almost sickening sweetness, but I stayed to explore its source.  It wasn’t long before I came to the center of the gathering, trees and bushes full of berries, covered in flowers.  There they were, hands outstretched like roots, or were they branches? The tangled mess was indistinguishable from their own form.  They were silent till they noticed me, turning their weathered masked face to the sound of my feet on the overgrowth.

“Do you like it?”  They whispered

I didn’t know how to reply, I was unsure, maybe even afraid to reply, but as I returned their question with silence, they turned away slowly, as if I had faded from notice.  I left, running away, tripping on the growth around me.  

On the edge of the glade, looking back in, I was in awe, but of what kind I was unsure.” 

“Acceptance”

Not all 'Tales’ see their inevitable death as a bad thing.  ‘Acceptance’ passes through my own forest from time to time, when the feelings of dread creep in and the woods grow dark, when I lose sight of my own self and my purpose.  

Acceptance smiles, ready to speak to us on the things that have been, are, and will come in our lives.  That our choices are what they are, and that contrary to the dread we feel on nights like these, we are whole, and we are on our path, though we cannot always see it. 

Acceptance leaves my side when I fall asleep, the smirk on their face continues as they know rest helps everything.  Acceptance has guided me back to my own self worth without me knowing it, our long talks alone were the path we needed to find my way.  They knew that.

For all of us, at some point or another, we must arm ourselves to face the challenges of life, and the acts against us.

For me, in this weapon’s case, it was a staff (for travel) that at its core was founded on risk (moving long distance, quitting my job) but bound with a healthy amount of pride (that I had the skill to succeed on my own).