Local image #114
2024, Acrylic on board, 30x30cm
Local Image #114
16 June 2024
Start with a description: a self-portrait of me at 13, posing for a school photograph. It’s collaged with a background of turquoise-colored “white noise.” There is a stiffness in my expression and pose, as if the photographer asked me to smile or sit up straight, perhaps to lower my front shoulder. I seem self-conscious, uncomfortable, unsure of how I am supposed to act or who I am. It’s as if I’m continuously asking, “Is this okay? Is this who you want me to be?”
I wasn’t really very rebellious. I wanted the approval of my elders and teachers. I wanted them to see me as a good boy. And I wanted to be a good boy in God’s eyes. But I began to experience inner conflicts, struggling with feelings of guilt over actions I didn’t fully understand or know how to address. I was dealing with emerging feelings of guilt related to certain behaviors I was exploring at that age, which I didn't fully understand or know how to handle. Now, I wish I had someone to talk to about it, someone who knew what they were talking about, but even my friends were too pretentious to admit to similar struggles. I wish I had more guidance during this time, particularly from my father, to help create a safe space for discussing these confusing feelings. It would have been very awkward to start with, I’m sure, but I find that the awkwardness dissipates with time. But he was absent, and now I can see that this created a gap in me. Would that have worked—a safe space to discuss? I wonder if others had similar experiences with their fathers. How did that influence your journey?
Propped up like a doll. A prop for someone else’s life. A backup plan as the second-born. Having no idea about the plans God had for me, or why I existed. I was told I needed to do well at school, earn good grades, then go to university like my older cousins, find a job, find a wife, build a career, raise a family. Be successful from scratch, without expecting any help or an inheritance. Be a self-made man. I had no idea, or did not question why I was good at some things and bad at others. No one explained in a way that made sense to me how God is at the center of being, the motivator of this vessel. Our education was primarily secular, with some Christian teachings added, which left me feeling spiritually underprepared. I was denied a spiritual education rigorous enough to steer me confidently through adulthood, but had an excellent upbringing as a young child, with a strong sense that God loved me, and that I loved Him.
At 13, I responded to an altar call at church and gave my life to Jesus in front of everyone, but I didn’t really have a sufficient idea of what that meant. It felt like I was spiritually stunted, lacking the knowledge and wisdom needed to navigate adulthood, especially in matters related to intimacy. Because sex was never really discussed, and neither was Jesus.
Despite this, I was blessed to have all my physical needs met—bathed and cleaned, food and shelter, books and stationery, sports equipment and musical instruments—as much as my lovely parents could afford. We were middle class but not wealthy.
16 June 2024
Start with a description: a self-portrait of me at 13, posing for a school photograph. It’s collaged with a background of turquoise-colored “white noise.” There is a stiffness in my expression and pose, as if the photographer asked me to smile or sit up straight, perhaps to lower my front shoulder. I seem self-conscious, uncomfortable, unsure of how I am supposed to act or who I am. It’s as if I’m continuously asking, “Is this okay? Is this who you want me to be?”
I wasn’t really very rebellious. I wanted the approval of my elders and teachers. I wanted them to see me as a good boy. And I wanted to be a good boy in God’s eyes. But I began to experience inner conflicts, struggling with feelings of guilt over actions I didn’t fully understand or know how to address. I was dealing with emerging feelings of guilt related to certain behaviors I was exploring at that age, which I didn't fully understand or know how to handle. Now, I wish I had someone to talk to about it, someone who knew what they were talking about, but even my friends were too pretentious to admit to similar struggles. I wish I had more guidance during this time, particularly from my father, to help create a safe space for discussing these confusing feelings. It would have been very awkward to start with, I’m sure, but I find that the awkwardness dissipates with time. But he was absent, and now I can see that this created a gap in me. Would that have worked—a safe space to discuss? I wonder if others had similar experiences with their fathers. How did that influence your journey?
Propped up like a doll. A prop for someone else’s life. A backup plan as the second-born. Having no idea about the plans God had for me, or why I existed. I was told I needed to do well at school, earn good grades, then go to university like my older cousins, find a job, find a wife, build a career, raise a family. Be successful from scratch, without expecting any help or an inheritance. Be a self-made man. I had no idea, or did not question why I was good at some things and bad at others. No one explained in a way that made sense to me how God is at the center of being, the motivator of this vessel. Our education was primarily secular, with some Christian teachings added, which left me feeling spiritually underprepared. I was denied a spiritual education rigorous enough to steer me confidently through adulthood, but had an excellent upbringing as a young child, with a strong sense that God loved me, and that I loved Him.
At 13, I responded to an altar call at church and gave my life to Jesus in front of everyone, but I didn’t really have a sufficient idea of what that meant. It felt like I was spiritually stunted, lacking the knowledge and wisdom needed to navigate adulthood, especially in matters related to intimacy. Because sex was never really discussed, and neither was Jesus.
Despite this, I was blessed to have all my physical needs met—bathed and cleaned, food and shelter, books and stationery, sports equipment and musical instruments—as much as my lovely parents could afford. We were middle class but not wealthy.