paintings of women with holes in them

In the late eighties, I ran an intensive training business, training in inner capacity development. Very intense five day trainings.  We offered them one month in Minneapolis, then one month in Baltimore. My former biz partner lived in Baltimore when we joined forces. When I had built up the business in Minneapolis, she basically just took it from me. Old wound. Stop here.

Anyway, I occasionally helped run the intensives in Baltimore. I got to know the base of our Baltimore clientele. There was a woman named Gina who was an artist, a painter.  I went to her studio once. All her paintings were paintings of women and every woman she painted had a hole in her. Just a hole someone, mainly in the torso, that was nothing but air all the way through. When gazing upon her paintings, the holes seemed perfect.  I came away thinking "These paintings are perfect because every woman has holes in her."

And anthroposophists believe that when a woman has a child, the birth tears a hole in her etheric being. Imagine having eight full term pregnancies, as my mom did. Or fourteen, as my great grandmother did. Yikes.

I thought Gina's paintings made a profound statement about women. I don't think she was thinking about etheric holes. She was a artist. She likely worked from a vibration, an energy. If one asked, and people did, why all her women had holes in them, she would shrug and shake her head to indicate she didn't know. I felt like I 'knew', knew viscerally:  maybe all women don't have holes in them but I have a huge hole in me. I am terrified it will never be healed, or closed, or compensated for. Maybe I'm depressed, although I am taking an antidepressant but my hole, my wound, is wearing on me. Hopefully it's just because I am so sick and not healing quickly but I know myself. This is my hole, the kind of hole Gina painted in all her women.