by J. Douglas Thompson | Jan 16, 2023 | General Information
I hesitate to share the following story! However being that it has been the underpinning of my reality for more than 6 decades affecting my worldview personally and artistically, I believe it needs to be stated as ground zero for this and future blogs. I again apologize to those I’ve hurt out of that reality. I’m incredibly grateful for the handful of rescuers who listened well, leaned into my reality during the last half of that sixth decade through to today enabling me to find freedom from the strictures of early childhood abuse.
Shut Down to Darkness *
It had begun…
The long rain…
The drowning of a child’s soul – my soul!
My parents made the choice to train for vocational ministry. We arrived at that place when I was three years of age and left just before my fourteenth birthday. From the time of our arrival and for the next eleven years, my parents relinquished their parental responsibilities to a proverbial institutional state. I became for all practical purposes a ward, which turned out to feel like a high-walled enclosure that was authoritarian and controlling. Under the dark cover of legalistic propriety there was a parallel universe of physical, sexual, emotional, and spiritual abuse.
Not everyone who lived there had the same experience, but this is my story.
A dyslexic child with an artistic bent, math was far from my strong suit. Grade 2 erupted volcanic as I attempted to please my teacher and do my best. This was not to be. Every simple arithmetic computation was a massive blur of hieroglyphic confusion. It was innocence that had arrived in Grade 2 bliss. My right brain lobe, however, swept imagination high, passing osmosis-like through lath and plaster walls upwards, where cumulous castles floated far off and wide. Dancing visual beauty consumed me instead of the proposed structured equations. My artistic bent held sway from earliest days!
My left brain, well, in full-out free fall, smashed hard against structured expectations and met the wrath of God himself – or so I was told!
All my mistakes were seen to be purposeful acts of defiance against this teacher personally, the institution, and of course, God, who apparently directed the place. She would insist that I stand up in front of the class and confess my ‘sin of disobedience and defiance’ for not doing the math correctly. She then would insist that every night after school that I be kept back to write on the blackboard 100 times my offences, then leave these until the next morning in an attempt to shame me into compliance.
This went on and on, day after day, month after month.
Finally in exasperation this Grade 2 teacher had enough of my ‘intransigence’ and let me know that the hour of judgement had finally come!
She called for full-fledged intervention!
I was marched out in front of my classmates to the second storey of the other school building next door and upstairs. The room was long and narrow, like a shoebox lying on its side, with twenty-foot ceilings and a small window high at one end. It was dark and menacing.
Nine teachers and a principal, like giant trolls, deep in scowls, snarling, circled tightly around me—this trembling six-year old. Their faces burned deep into my memory. Cult-like, they spewed hate and lies, accusing me of great sin. Cringing in recoil and trembling white, I wept while they mocked. There was no escape. They pressed tighter in tall concentric crush, one by one insisting I confess what I did not understand.
For my child’s ears, their words screamed horror: ‘No, you have pushed this teacher far too far. Extreme demands extreme! Repent to us, each in order, and repent to your creator God. Now! You must repent! You will be punished today by us, yes! But He waits and will punish you down the line to be sure. Just you wait! God doesn’t take kindly to prideful defiance!’
They waited, pushing me from one side to the other, forcing me to confess. Then, while the leering tight circle of female teachers watched, the male principal commanded, ‘Strip down your pants, boy.’ He took a fifteen-inch long black and red leather razor strap and lashed nakedness blue black. When it was over, they insisted I apologize again to each of them in turn, and that I pray again to let heaven and earth know that I understood my serious crime. They then reminded me that my ‘loving heavenly Father’ would be watching carefully to see if my transgressions were to continue.
Continue they did, as math eluded my right-slanted brain. For the next five years I daydreamed my cumulous castles floating far off and wide between ongoing variant abusive discipline—coming, ironically from people who purportedly believed as part of their foundational mandate, God’s love. They insisted the only way to resolve my unsuccessful turn at math—seen as defiance—was to break the will of this young wild heart.
At the end of the five years they succeeded. I cracked and broke! In uncontrolled hysteria, swinging between laughing and crying fits, back and forth, rolling on the floor, my muscles went into spasms of twitching and my head shook and jerked.
At this point, my parents, long preoccupied with their ‘ministry,’ recognized I needed help. They took me to a doctor eighty miles away, who recommended I be put to bed for rest. For the next two years, and unfortunately, alone in upstairs isolation of our home, I shut down completely! Drowning in dark escape, curled in fetal form, I often slept twenty-two of the twenty-four hours of each day.
Deep tendrils grasped my ankles, entwining and entombing me in blackness. I struggled to come to the surface but anchors cemented me into the blue-black waters of coma-edged reality. A distant pinprick light mocked its relief from high above. Disembodied voices came, but mostly went. Gasping for air, I thrashed to find surface’s breath that would give relief. I clawed my way out of the semiconscious depths to take short respites for food and water, and then slip back again into canyons’ deep recesses. I was alone, adrift in and below the high seas of an ongoing death grip and no one was searching for the person overboard.
And so my conundrum and anger began. I felt abandoned by indifferent parents, never sensing what it was to receive a parent’s tender reassurance. I was bewildered by and even embittered with a brand of institutional Christianity modeling a different message than my parents verbalized. Confusion reigned! Eventually a man body emerged, tied up tightly, stored high in the attic’s soul where it remained numbed and frozen, hidden in darkness for decades to come.
I began to identify many things in the broader scope of Christianity that have been done in Jesus’ name, both despicable and devastating. For a long time, I failed to see much that is representative of His character of love and grace and His vast creative nature.
My personal quest however, is to shift the paradigm in this ‘my little tide pool’ by presenting beauty, hope, and truth. I wish to point not to the past, rehearsing harsh rhetoric spoken in his name, but rather redirect my focus to the present where the master of all artists—and my good shepherd who came seeking a very lost sheep far out on a dangerous cliffside—continues to restore me.
*Excerpt from ‘Radiance Through the Rain’
J Douglas sitting contemplatively on Cadillac Mountain, Maine, USA
by J. Douglas Thompson | Jan 4, 2023 | General Information
Just a Feather on the Lane
Earlier this Autumn in walk’s attempt to keep body and soul intact as shadows lengthen and days grow short, I glanced askance and there it lay…this blue black wonder of flight…a feather lost of neighbour jay…
Now, one may see or pass without a second thought but in its immediacy it demanded that I stoop to consider…
I’ve been a designer/artist for five plus decades…I’ve studied well my craft and worked the midnight oil years over…yet in all my attempts where my hand invades canvas, nothing comes close to what demanded my attention this evening upon the lane…
Sure, with great care it may have been possible to replicate a facsimile of sort on canvas stretched, but not one that carried and oozed life in full out dimension…an intricate part of floating, swooping, raucous exuberance itself…it sang out as myriad versions daily sing, that intricate design exudes each centimetre square if only we would stop to smell and see.
It sadly also reminded me of fallen brevity and the curse of death. Life itself was originally conceived to be a sweep of raucous joy and full-out delight, but the fall of a blue, black feather reminds me of my days, and each action to choose well.
Many of you may think my mind facile in giving credence to the possibility of design that transcends human knowledge. To me it is mystery worth pondering deep that a very intelligent designer’s hand and indeed spoken word here, and not just random unguided happen-chance that had passed this way…and with this, at least for me, the palette of life and hope seems much richer again tonight with this fallen work of art.
by J. Douglas Thompson | Dec 12, 2022 | General Information
Wondering while Wandering…
…an artist’s limp toward finding ‘Radiance Through the Rain’
‘May the Rain of Suffering Soften Our Hearts,
Seeping Radiance to Our Thirsty Places.’
J. Douglas Thompson© 2022
On thoughts beyond the plague
And all was well…
Or so it seemed..and then and yet
Another crash has come to set
The act called life
And choices left
Our parts to play
To gain or be bereft…
We went about our daily chore
And thought that there was little more
To do or be
Those ‘musts’ that clang
Like rusty bells
That wore us down
And tried to drown
Our laughter, joy or song.
And in reminders off-tune rant
At days long end, we say, we can’t
Yet, here we are
To once again
Though weary through and through
We push toward
Our single song
In this long year of twenty two
It seems, yes wrong
That just as islands
We’re just fine
But really know
That’s just a line.
And we’ve been told
Without a doubt
To keep ourselves and those about
At distance safe
To not expose
Our inner fate
That broken we
Ourselves indeed
In isolated state
Are deep, so deep in need.
We thought it well
To keep our hearts
Our secret store
Well hidden, locked
Our longings past
Our longings fore
And so, shut down we dwelt
Our inner lives
Alone at core.
It’s in our hearts
That stoic we
Placed walls against the hurt of past
And statements make
Just to ourselves
To place our stake
That islands we
Shall still remain
Above the fray
Stiff upper lipped
And yet we lay
And yes, we pray
And dark at night
Alone we stay.
From morn till night
With just a nod, a smile or slight
A hand in clasp, or distant sneer
The other wish to disappear
And yet beneath our dermal skin
Our heart lay cold
With stated stand
Of not in want or need
At least it seemed
To us
As on we went in daily rounds
To fortify
That we flew high
Above it all
And needed none,
Not even one
To come by close
And so afford us
Love.
And so and now
The tide has turned
And want, yes we
From others free
A touch
And so to see
If given chance
On future date
It might be wise
In promise pure
To act upon
And give our hearts to others sure
Not just in heads
Or passing nods
But heart to heart
With depths that throb
With deepening care
The other for
Including self, which we have wore
So sawdust thin
That just before
We didn’t love ourselves at core
And so it came
The neighbour less and less, than more.
So finally,
This act has past
The play called plague
Its shadow cast
And yet it clings
The danger rings
Across the shore
And so we stand
With grateful hearts
For life still giv’n
Another day
To laugh, to cry to stay
To yes imbibe
The wonders way
And yet there lies
Good bye
Forestalled
And so to stop
T’would be with wise
One further thought
As yes distractions rise
To cast our minds
A moment fore
An open door
For what’s beyond
A crack of light
Despite our night
That offers hope
With laughter, joy and pure delight
A place called Evermore.
Wondering while Wandering…
by J. Douglas Thompson | Nov 15, 2022 | General Information
An artist Looks at…and Sees!
Yes, being an artist is about looking but even more importantly truly seeing! I mean really seeing. Savoring with your eyes!
“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.”
― Leonardo da Vinci
“There are three classes of people: those who see. Those who see when they are shown. Those who do not see.”
― Leonardo da Vinci
To see, is to find the nuance, the thick and thin places, the negative shapes, filling in the blanks, the achromatic values within the innumerable sophisticated neutrals derived from ones shaping of colour from just two complimentaries with just an added dash of white or black! There are, by the way, many other variables also found in other colour theories. In music and dance these same mysteries are unearthed through a lifelong journey of both inspiration and struggle.
And so it is with life! A limitless endless canvas of possibility spreads before us at birth and is available for our discovery during our very short three score and ten…but not without pain and struggle!
And so, here, I as this artist looks at and sees my life, my profound personal struggles, my insane and sometimes inane doubts and yes intense inspiration. Here through writing I attempt to mollify the roller coaster I’ve been given. These personal notations have been the crucible in which I endeavor to work out my personal faith which is an integral expression of my art and being. My craft as a painter has undergone similar struggle.
If anyone of you finds these ruminations some encouragement worth further conversation or journeying in anonymity, thanks for joining with me. And so…
Welcome!
This initial blog will be short and sweet. I have endeavored to characterize who I am and the intent of this blog in the permanent categories listed along the top of the blog format.
They are as you can see, the ‘Home, Introduction, Preface, and About Me’ sections.
I decided that it would be best to sketch out who this artist, poet, author was in those top areas so that they didn’t become buried as I wrote ongoing posts. In this way new readers could dip in and see if this pathway was something they wanted to walk in and on regularly or not.
I plan (and plans as you know, often go awry) to post something bi-weekly. I will not go into any detail here as to the what or why as it’s all been penciled in those permanent categories. I should note maybe though that they will all be disparate, random thoughts that pass my way as I struggle to work things out through ‘Wondering While Wandering’.
If you wish to subscribe or contact me, please send your email to:
radiancethroughtherain@gmail.com
I look forward to having two-way conversations as things progress in 2023. That said, if you wish in anonymity to sit back with your wine or coffee and think quietly along with me, fine.
In the meantime, be well, and again a warm welcome here.
Doug
www.jdthompson.net
Painter of Light and Atmospherics
Prince Edward County is wine country located on an island in Lake Ontario…a great place to ‘Wonder’ while painting with both words and artistic techniques…
Prince Edward County is wine country located on an island in Lake Ontario…a great place to Wonder while painting…