The Love Letter
Remembering Italian artist Artemesia Gentileschi **sensitivity warning - violence, sexual violence
(I just had this published on Vocal Media yesterday, which is fate, maybe? I have read about and explored the artwork - only online and in books - of Artemisia Gentileschi for years. Her fortitude, bravery and ability to use art for personal expression and healing has been a huge inspiration to me in regards to my own writing, and how I live life the best way I can despite challenges. As a result, I have no choice but to make this edit and enter it in this very timely International/Inspirational Women's challenge.)
Dear Tassi,
When I painted
Susanna and the Elders
some years ago
I fell asleep on clean
brushes and dreamed
My head on my hands
drifting into Susanna’s world
the bristled brush my bridge
I called myself Sybil
a woman’s name
that also means oracle
or a torture device that pulls
and damages the fingers
like that wrought
on me by the court to prove
you raped me
But you know how strange
dreams can be
I watched my skin
G l i d e
across the page,
like Susanna’s, creamy and plum
My long-curled hair fell to the side
as I twisted away
held up my hands to deflect
the depraved elders like she did
But I fiercely grabbed
one by his carmine
cloak and forced
him into a Vajrasana pose
gripping his temples
between my knees as hard
as a nutcracker
until his beseeching
screams and skeleton
fell limp at my feet
When I awoke from the dream
I smiled.
When I painted Judith and Holofernes
I wished to reverse the raw
physical power
you lorded over me
and as my brush worked
the pores of the canvas, I imagined
meticulously sawing
through your windpipe
your life exiting your body
as if it were a terrible song
I would learn that song and carry
it through each of my paintings
in the coming years
Your blood spurted like fireworks
only touching the pristine
white sheets underneath
your semi-detached head
a stain on all that is pure and good.
When I painted
Self-Portrait as St. Catherine
of Alexandria I held tight
to the spiked, broken wheel
weaponized by pagans to kill
her, her gaze declaring
‘Don’t fuck with me’
See how she wears her artist’s face
and bony white knuckles?
For Lucretia, it was a challenge
to secure enough red
paint to finish the project
the color of rape
never looked so thick
her spilled blood
could not look as red
as her crumpled finery
I wondered, did she see red,
seconds from ending
her own life, while savagely
grabbing her breast?
(like he did)
Red is hot bloody velvet
It absorbed her into its palate
and kept her from surfacing
Red is shame’s scarf
it swaddled and swallowed
her as she screamed out
She did not see it lurking
in the shadows
as she drove the dagger into her heart.
When I painted An Allegory
of Painting, A Self- Portrait
I recalled the sound of your voice
languid and mournful
telling me, ‘do not paint so much’
On canvas, I appeared
in my own artist’s light
looking away
from the portrait’s beholders
sleeves rolled up like the heroines
I had bared before, a robust
arm keenly grasping
the paintbrush brandished
by my hand
If you wish to bring me to mind, Tassi
that is how I should be remembered.
Before I bid a final farewell
I urge you to view my new version
of Susanna and the Elders
My bristled brush still a bridge
but Susanna is no longer a babe
her arms are stronger
and you can see the details
of the railing posts, the charming
landscape of the backdrop
and her silver teardrop earrings -
only her hair is unseen
in the murky shadows.
The Elders, now older
have been kept more at bay
as she pushes back.
When the piece was finally executed
and the paint began to set
I washed the oil from my brush
the blood from my soul
Finally, I am cleaned of you.
Most Sincerely,
Artemisia Gentileschi
About the Creator
Tracy Kreuzburg
I love reading, writing and storytelling, and using stories to convey truths. I feel this is a platform that will encourage me to write my stories, I also have an interest in connecting written work to art.
Comments (2)
There's so much poetry and power exhibited (an reclaimed) in this piece. A perfect homage to her life and work. Thank you for reminding me to think of her more often.
Well done, My Friend. Well done.