Sana que Sana

Instagram: @nataliamesart , @mesa.natalia

Sana que sana,

colita de rana,

si no sana hoy,

sanará mañana.

This roughly translates to:

Heal heal,

frog's tail,

if it doesn't heal today,

it will heal tomorrow.

This is a saying in Colombia (and probably all Latin America) that mothers and fathers recite to their children when they take a tumble or get hurt. I decided to title my work with the first line of this nursery rhyme because it captures the most important elements; pain and a desire to heal, family, collective healing, inherited memories, and Colombia.

Now, I'll cut to the chase and explain the meaning behind each layer and all the motifs spread throughout the piece...

The front layer is completely composed of engraved flowers, chrysanthemums to be precise. These flowers represent my parents and siblings. I owe everything to my parents, and I owe a lot to flowers. My father's job in the flower business somewhat caused my family to leave the country in the late 90s, but it also helped us return after the violent years had passed.

The second layer is made up of painted dots that congregate in organic shapes. They seem to be struggling between connecting and disconnecting, a visual representation of connections lost - or perhaps connections that never fully formed. This layer is based on neuroimaging studies on the neuroanatomical changes in the brains of people with PTSD. Studies suggest that a common factor among people with PTSD is a lower density the hippocampus, the main inhibitor of the HPA axis (involved in fear response and regulation). Lowered density of the hippocampus results in lower/abnormal regulation of our fear pathway. Failure to regulate fear in the brain aligns with the lived experience of those with PTSD, experiencing unwanted triggers, hypervigilance and anxiety.

See for more info: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3182008/

The third layer is full of soapy, loose and colourful brushstrokes in a warm colour palette. This layer was a joy to make because it was my expression of healing painful memories and reprocessing trauma. Some layers of paint are rather thick, while others are watered down and others have spread apart like oil in water. These different weights imitate the experience of healing from trauma, balancing levels of pain and joy, days of heaviness and hope. (Not to be dramatic but the process of healing is so layered and confusing, and definitely non-linear. This experience is at the root of my desire to make this artwork).

The fourth layer is quite simple. It is pain and trauma. Mine, my family's, my country's. Undeniable, but heal-able, maybe. It is red and rugged, it is thick and dripping. It causes clouds and confusion. Denial and beauty too.

The fifth layer is another neuro-inspired layer. It has abstract pink and white brains that seem to come from flowers at the bottom. It is soapy and cloudy, a nod to both healing and denial. Most importantly, it has a blurry column of engraved lines traveling vertically in a tangled mess. This represents the theory of hyperconnectivity (and hyperactivity) of the amygdala in the brain of people with PTSD. Neuroimaging studies have found that the amygdala (hub of fight-or-flight behaviors and danger-detection) is overly reactive and more densely connected to the memory structures of the brain. This could be the neural correlate of memory dysfunctions in PTSD such as flashbacks, heightened emotions within memory, uncontrollable triggers and other symptoms.

The sixth and last layer is an ode to Colombia. An ode to its mountains, its rain, and its "desparecidos" ( translates to "disappeared") . This is the official term the government used to categorize most of the Colombians that were kidnapped and murdered by the guerillas, paramilitaries and other violent groups. To claim millions of people "disappeared" makes Magical Realism sound possible. However, these people didn't disappear, they were the victims of violence and a corrupt government looking to avoid placing blame on themselves or anyone else. The gaping holes in the back of this work are for those that aren't with us anymore, but whose absence has an undeniable presence in our country and history.

Healing is layered. Generations of trauma are within us, collective memory is shared, and healing can he shared too (I hope). With this piece I show my love for my country despite its violence, my admiration for my parents and grandparents for what they lived through, and my desire to release the repressed memories and emotions that we collectively hold.