Nothing is certain. This lesson is learned only through experience and resonates most when paired with pain. As an artist, I retreat into worlds of my own creation, albeit, worlds where I feel in control. I manifest ideas through shape and realize feelings through form, a process through which I can record and translate life into something recognizable, familiar, and mine. I now realize that what must be said is what I suppress the most – out of fear of sharing too much and appearing vulnerable - as an individual and as a brand. The materials I work with are a way to speak through metaphor without getting too personal. The result being the artistic expression of an extrovert masking an introverted spirit. One with the wisdom to know we only get one shot at this thing called life – well, at least in our current conscious form.
Fast forward to mid summer. I was happily living and creating with a new found inspiration that felt like a force I had never experienced before. Yes, I felt ill, tired, and drained of energy like any woman in her first trimester, but at the same time everything radiated with meaning. I felt like I was filled with magma and glowing from within. Then one day, in my showroom between client meetings, I started to feel the intrauterine twangs every woman feels right before getting her period. Then -- the blood started flowing and it was like floodgates of emotion opened and my soul poured out on the concrete floor. I cancelled the rest of my meetings as professionally as one could while going through a miscarriage and drove myself to the nearest hospital.
About this time last year I was scoping out prelease of my next collection titled, “IRON AGE,” which follows my previous collection, “BRONZE AGE.” I knew I would be making clothing and masks (ironically) shifting away from metalworking and jewelry to something new. In my personal life my partner (who is also an artist) and I were trying to conceive, collaborating on the ultimate creation.
There was a summer street festival going on at the time, and it was incredibly disorienting. I went to two emergency rooms before finding the right one. I had a horrible sinking feeling in my gut, blood pooling in my underwear slowly running down my leg. Howling and sobbing along the way I felt like a wounded animal trying to crawl my way to a safe place to die.
Then the dreams started. They were bizarre and powerful, to the extent I journaled them in a book I’ve had since 2004. One day I awoke to a cacophony of complex emotions of disgust, anger, curiosity, and laughter – I dreamt that I made a full sized spear, of a design from my previous collection, and had walked in on an overweight white middle class man getting extreme pleasure from shoving it up his ass. In my dream, I was so mortified I was sick to my stomach. Strangely enough, the fact that this intruder was pleasing himself from my art did not bother me. Rather, I was bothered by the fact that I had believed this object held ritual, magickal power, an athame of sorts.
After the diagnosis was confirmed I was sent home with instructions to rest and hydrate as much as possible. I did exactly the opposite.
The next day my partner asked if I wanted to make something for an iron pour he was overseeing. I took this as a sign and immediately got to work naturally, on a set of athame - like trident/spear forms. I was not certain what I was going to do with them, but the dream had possessed me in such a way that quite frankly, the only thing that mattered was that I manifest them from the dream realm into the physical world. Within a few weeks of the iron pour, I discovered I was pregnant. The amalgamation of events and specificity of material seemed to be a cosmic sign that iron age was off to a good start because naturally, it had the blessing of the powers that be. Fate had other ideas.
52 — (uncertainty)
I couldn’t bear to be alone with the thoughts running through my head, searching aimlessly for meaning… a reason… an answer to “why”. “Was it the ½ caf coffee I had a few days ago? Did I eat something that had gone bad? Did I let stress seep into my womb? Was it that anxious moment? Or (the worst) am I just too old?” I felt like a conscious zombie. It was too much. That night a friend was playing a show in her band HIDE and asked to borrow some leather for her performance. I could have quietly excused myself - I know she would have understood, being a mother herself. But something inside me urged me to go. I craved the catharsis of watching her perform, hearing her scream, feeling her turbulent growls rumble in my empty bleeding womb, so I went. Everyone thought I was crazy but I didn’t care. I adopted her rage as my own. Hide’s performance of their song “PAIN KILLER” killed my pain, even for a brief moment, and put my turbulent soul in this very uncertain moment at ease. (Photos on right.) // Laura Prieto-Velasco (@hvntergvtherer) // Photos - “Foto by Mateo” (@fotodemateo)