-Patricia Ferrier

I’ve been drawing ever since I was a small child, usually pictures of dinosaurs or tigers, all of them ferocious. Since then, nothing but my skill has changed. Amusingly, the things I draw today are likely to be found somewhere in fantasy books, nightmares and sci-fi novels around the world; however, every single one of them was manufactured in no place but my mind. Often snarling, breathing fire or displaying some other gruesome trait, these pictures are said to represent things in my life—self-expression.

When I was younger, I had no idea what that meant, but now the pictures are clear to me. I’m often asked, “Trish, why draw dragons?” And my usually reply consists of, “I’ve been doing it since I was five.” This doesn’t really answer the question, although, it usually stops all curiosity there. The truth, in fact, is perhaps a little sad, a little startling to some. The truth is, it is self-expression, expression of anger, hurt, grief, somewhere buried within myself, seeking release. Many do not know this, but I’ve a rather short temper, very short, especially around kids (not a joke). Hurt is probably caused by my past. Everyone has a few dark years, sure, in which they weren’t entirely happy. I am no exception to that, except that my years seem to haunt me still, in memories, and dreams…

And as for grief, well, in truth, I didn’t used to draw things quite so harsh or dead-looking until about a year ago, when my father passed to a disease known as ALS, also known as Lou Gherig’s Disease, which I’m not going to describe because it takes too long. Needless to say, it was terminal, and we watched him slowly die for about a year and a half. When he passed, I didn’t realize how hurt I was, until I started looking at my art.

However, despite the slightly disturbing reasons for the quality of my art, I still admire the art and, to me, it’s still appealing, even if someone else might find the images to be horrible or sickly. Perhaps, too, there is a longing, in my drawing dragons, to escape the unfantastic world without miracles and magic. Perhaps my drawing dragons represents a wish that there was something more than being born, going to school till you’re thirty, getting a job and staying there till your sixty, then maybe finding a retirement home, and dying there. Perhaps part of me wishes that somewhere, there really was a dragon that needed taming or slaying, or some wild magician performing tricks that were actually real, or, even a healer who seems to possess the most powerful of spells to heal things… even Lou Gherig’s Disease. As always, the true answer as to why I draw dragons is elusive, and I’m not sure I’ll ever know for sure, perhaps not until the day I die.

Doubt

I am the air that you can’t breathe,
I am the tar beneath your feet.

I am the light that you can’t see,
I am the darkness of your dreams.

I am the words that you can’t speak,
I am the thoughts that make you weak.

I am the secret in every mind,
I am the violence you’ve come to find.
I am the sense in your madness,
I am the hurt in every caress.

I am the truth you try to hide,
I am the one to whom you’re tied.

I am the skin beneath your lies,
I am the reason for all your sighs.

I am everything you lost,
I am everything you did,
I am all your wrongs,
I am all your sins.

I am who you really are.

-Patricia Ferrier