Artist Statement

Part 1 - Why Art?

An important part of understanding my work is understanding the difference between C-PTSD and PTSD. Many are familiar with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, meaning exposure to a traumatic event that manifests in symptoms like flashbacks, avoidance of memories, and hypervigilance. Complex-PTSD meets all of these requirements; however, it is often caused by prolonged exposure to traumatic events, where escape is difficult or nearly impossible. It can manifest similarly to PTSD, yet prolonged exposure to trauma leaves the nervous system rewired, causing individuals with C-PTSD to struggle with physical and emotional regulation, core beliefs about oneself, and interpersonal relationships, and often these individuals develop chronic illness in their life, like autoimmune disorders. I start with these distinctions in hopes that my work can shed light on C-PTSD as a disorder as well as my personal experience with C-PTSD, because a better understanding of this disorder helps destigmatize other mental health disorders, like bipolar and schizophrenia. Often, symptoms in C-PTSD can manifest similarly to these disorders and many individuals are misdiagnosed and mistreated, leading to further isolation and harm to all communities struggling with mental health. 

 My mother’s schizophrenia caused her to be an unsafe caretaker for my brothers and I. My father was often in prison or jail causing me to be severely neglected until my Grandma allowed my mom and my siblings to move in with her when I was four. Due to these dynamics there are many traumatic instances I have gone through that have caused my C-PTSD to commonly manifest as depersonalization and derealization, both of which leave me feeling disconnected to both my body and my surroundings. When I was seventeen my grandma passed away. Shortly after I began living alone and then I moved to college. During this transition point I became so dissociated that my body began to collapse. In the spring of my freshman year I was hospitalized because of chronic health issues, where I almost died. I had to leave college and temporarily stay with family in a rural area that was new and unfamiliar to me. 

Before this point in time I would ask myself questions to ground myself. The dialogue would often follow this pattern: Who am I? I’m Alyia. Where am I? I’m at work. How did I get here? I got here by car. While I began to recover from my health issues these questions became more visceral: Instead of who am I? It became, who is Alyia and who do I want to be? Where am I? Became where am I in my body? How did I get here? Became what actions have led me to this point in my life? Which led me to one of my most constant questions: What is my purpose here in this life? Though I may never find concrete answers to these questions, I found deep relief in making art. No matter the question or the emotion, it felt like art could meet me there fully. The more immersed I became in my art the more grounded I became. Not just because of the art itself, but the way I noticed myself through my community. 

This is where I begin to use my work, as both a highlight of chronic mental and physical health struggles, and also as a way of connecting communities together in any form that my art can allow. I have learned through my own experiences of C-PTSD how vital it is to be connected to my community. I was once so detached from reality that I couldn’t understand that people perceived me; I felt as though I simply didn’t exist. Once I saw how people responded to me and my art, I found clarity through the connections I was building. I want to express that art is more than something that's pleasurable for me, it's my life line. This life line has given me so much direction and peace, something I feel I need to share with my community. There are moments in my life that I was actively homeless and many where I was on the verge of homelessness. Without community, I would not have pursued a higher education and ultimately would never have lived in my art. I would not have been able to see my life beyond my circumstances. I am forever grateful for the community in Utah that pushed me here, and the community in college that has pushed me to do art. For these reasons, I share my work in hopes that I continue to see myself in my community and for my community to see themselves in the work that I do. 

Part 2- Why different Materials?

Art is an extension of my body, a way of somatically processing emotions, experiences, and desires. I use many different mediums because each material that I use allows me to release and process different unaddressed emotional experiences. The ultimate goal is to not repeat generational patterns and to not be destructive, but instead use my time and energy to create. This leads my work to have a more physical intensity both in my paintings and sculpture. The process of working with a material largely dictates how I move with the work. The first time I ever painted with oil paint I thought it was so fun how the paint would play with me, it felt alive and tactile and that feeling carried through to my paintings. As I move through my practice I realize more and more that when I feel like the medium is playing with me, that is when I’m the most grounded. While not all mediums are fun to play with all the time (like metal for instance), there is always this feeling of conversation or exchange of spirit with me and the materials and another conversion between the materials and the work.  

Conversations are a central theme in my works, as conversations with my community propel those that I have with my materials. Bringing people into the studio, showing them work, or even simply asking them about their own perspectives and experiences in life. These moments can be small alone but often they bring me to new methods of thinking, and are my primary way of grounding myself. Community is essential for individuals from any background, and with my C-PTSD, I have realized how crucial it is for me to be vulnerable with my community in order to receive support. You have to be visible to be perceived, and to be perceived relieves dissociative episodes. Without this community, visibility is impossible: without conversations, healing from C-PTSD is a cyclical plunge into the abyss. 

Shortly after my grandma’s passing, I was working as a Certified Nursing Assistant and I was showering residents at different facilities. There was one resident, every time I showered her, she would have a color of the day that she would open her closet and pick an outfit for. At the time, my closet consisted mostly of black because I was still deeply grieving, and I asked her why she had the entire rainbow in her closet. She was very stern and a bit senile, but very gentle, and said you have to have color in your life somewhere, especially when it’s not anywhere else. It felt like she had pierced through me and saw exactly why I had asked her. Those words profoundly resonated with me, and from then on color has been an integral part to how I operate and see the world. 

Color became the main factor to how I play with my materials. Most of my experimentation with materials comes from me trying to mix specific colors. I am incredibly particular about the colors that I use and usually once I’ve found my colors most of the playful process is over and the experiential and real conversation with the work begins. In this phase of making work I begin to set the color mind to the side and let textures represent how I’m feeling. This is where each medium holds a different weight; certain materials are harder to work with, and while they are more intense, they help me release more intense feelings. Whereas softer, easier materials like paints, allow me to process more softly and therefore the work becomes more soft and delicate. 

Part 3- My Year of Grieving

Although it has been five years since my grandma’s passing it has been only this year that I have found myself truly capable of grieving her loss. Before her passing, I was already managing my household and immediately after, life threw me into early adulthood. With all my circumstances stacked against me, I had no room to process what I had lost and had to focus on how to survive. As my time at Swarthmore comes to an end, the comfort that a safe physical environment has given me has allowed me to begin to leave the stage of denial that I had been in up until recently. Everyone experiences grief differently and most will likely interpret what it means to grieve differently as well. I will say that in my experience, grieving has been my way of expressing my love and my deepest gratitude for the person who was most like my mother. 

As I have moved through this year I have found myself indebted to my grandma’s self-sacrifices. Mignonette Ruth Ray Heldman was the strongest woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing and the immense sorrow of losing. When I look back on her I constantly remember her gentle stubbornness, as she encouraged  me to work hard and embedded me with the spirit of tenacity. She was incredibly playful and full of knowledge. She was a hoarder of many things including cats, eclectic and sometimes a bit erratic. In my calmest memories she was silently loving me, often with a cup of tea, while carrying the responsibility of raising multiple children she did not birth. I don’t have words to express how extraordinary a woman she was or how much she has influenced me. However, while viewing my work I hope a glimpse of my gratitude can shine through while viewing my year of grieving. Grieving out of love and gratitude has helped me cope with losing my childhood and my mother.