Portraits of Adoption
An Introduction
As I grow older, I find myself more and more drawn to abstract moments of transformative inspiration, and my creative process.
My personal Experience of Adoption
While the description below may appear idyllic - my inner world was one of loneliness, confusion and a deep sense of displacement - which became even more pronounced once I discovered at the age of eleven that I had been adopted.
In my next feature, “A Mother’s Silence’ - I will share with you my experience of being told this truth around our kitchen table.
Thank you for reading. Anna xxx
My Story
My name is Anna, and I grew up in Wiltshire - a land where mystery and magic meet legend filled crop circles, chalk white horses and ancient stories laden with promise and unseen forces.
Growing up near Stonehenge permeated my childhood with mystery. Memories of picnics and tag in-between the Stones have never left me. The absence of fences at that time meant that barriers didn’t separate the Stones from our abandoned joy.
My brother and I loved these visits!
We would lay against these massive rocks to feel their magic. As we indulged in the tinge of fear associated with such monumental surreal structures, stories were told and songs made up.
Our un-tempered imaginations were wild and replete.
My father had an innocent fascination with England’s ancient history. Every school break involved a visit to either the Stones, Glastonbury, or walks along the old Roman Road with cheese and pickle sandwiches squeezed into our pockets.
There were sighs and complaints after three-hour treks through countless identical looking fields.
“Just follow the ley-lines”, he would say.
We blindly followed his footsteps of exploration with intrigue and awe.
My father never said much about these visits. In his typical quiet manner he would gaze into the distance, as if listening to some far off calling. I would look up and wonder what it was that he loved so much about these excursions.
We just had fun; but for him it was something so much deeper. He seemed to find some solace, some language all to himself; something that I often wish I had asked him about when I was older.
Alas, such musings are now far too late!
asleep
Asleep
Asleep
“Her face turns toward the eggshell blue shutters,
just as the cautious Westerly breeze
sneaks through the gaps
of the rattling window’s charm.
As her breath caresses
the creased linen white pillow,
just for a couple of moments
she is so quiet
that it is as if the world
has stopped,
and only she remains.
Silent,
still and forever.
There is darkness in her dreams.
But always colour.
Signs
coupled with
unspoken words.
Tonight is like every other!”