When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke around me I am in darkness – I am nothing. I only come into existence when the plumber, or the horse dealer, or whoever it may be, says something which sends me alight. Then how lovely the smoke of my phrases is, rising and falling, flaunting and falling, upon red lobsters and yellow fruit, wreathing them into one beauty. – Virginia Woolf
Virginia Woolf looks depressed in most photos, because she frequently was. Never hold that against anyone. Privilege, talent and education don’t mean a thing when the Black Dog is on your trail. The good news is, a bi-polar doesn’t have to go far for a second opinion, if I’m doing it right. Tell me if I’m not. Bi-polar creative artists are legion, and stigma is neither your creation nor mine, so there is no reason to thoughtlessly buy into it, so let’s don’t and say we didn’t.
This painting’s split of positive and negative colors and Virginia’s conflicted countenance serve to describe the circumstance of her inner state and how she produced (or co-produced) such timeless brilliance in spite of it. She is one of many reasons I’m so interested in flawed geniuses and broken heroes. Sometimes your problems are the seed of your potential, and since no-one is perfect, with proper management, that presents an herbiverse of possibilities. But keep a leash on that dog – Virginia’s ran off and drowned.
The green hillock behind her left shoulder serves only to fill space, but it reminded me of the hills of West Virginia, the birthplace of my father’s father (Milton – the town, not his name), hence my working title “West Virginia Woolf”, which in the end was too corny to make the cut.
Using what you have learned: In the space remaining, compare and contrast Stignatism, Stigmatism, and Kruschev’s Anti-smegmatarianist policies in Central Asia. Use examples.