Girl on Fire Sprouting Wings

When I was in college, I was assigned an art project in print-making art class. The assignment was to make a stone-and-ink self-portrait print. This form of art is called stone lithography and hasn’t changed in centuries. I loved everything about the printmaking process from the large heavy limestone, the smell of the special ink we rolled onto the stone, the thick, poster-sized art paper, to the giant hand-levered print-making machine that looked like it came out of an 18th-century print shop. As I wheeled this large, heavy stone over to the sink area to grind down the stone, I began to get excited about the ritual of the preparation process. There was something magical about turning this heavy limestone into an art canvas using the muscles in my arms to grind the old image away. Somehow it felt metaphorical and important to the piece of art I had in emerging in my mind.

When the stone was ground down to a smooth, clean surface, I used wax ink to create my self-portrait on the stone. My self-portrait flowed out of me as if she had been crying to be seen for years. While everyone else around me drew beautiful, realistic images of themselves, I drew an abstract image of myself with fire coming out of my head and wings sprouting on my back. This self-portrait was aptly titled, “Girl on Fire Sprouting Wings”. Later, as all the art students presented their self-portraits- mine stood out as different. I was the lone artist in the room that chose to represent the girl inside rather than the person others could see.

I hadn’t always been the lone girl in the room. I grew up trained to be obedient, faithful, and studious. My family belonged to a strict religion that believed children should be seen and not heard. We were reprimanded if we asked too many questions, especially when it came to our faith. Blind faith and acceptance were what was required and expected of me. I followed this religion faithfully. I went to every bible study, and every meeting eager to learn how to be more faithful. I read my bible and memorized the stories. Then, slowly, I began to question these beliefs.

The questioning began in high school when I took a dance class. Our dance teacher was the first openly homosexual man I had ever met. Now, up to this point, I had been raised to believe that homosexuality was a sin. I imagined awful things about…

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