Untethered 40x60
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by Wade Sather

When I was two years old, I was in a serious accident on our farm.

No one really knows, but from what we can put together, I left the farmhouse and crossed the 100-yard distance to the corrals where we kept cattle. My dad was driving a tractor out there, cleaning out corrals, which involves a lot of back and forth. What two-year-old can resist the enticing combination of Dad and a tractor?

We guess that I wanted to watch the action up close or that I was trying to get my father's attention so that he would take me for a ride. In any case, I positioned myself behind the tractor, the worst place I could be.

Dad doesn't like to talk about it very much. He did once tell me of the horror that struck him seeing me lying there, between the rear and front wheels, realizing that he had backed the tractor over me.

Fractured 60x40
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The only reason I'm still around is the lucky combination of soft ground, flexible skull bones, and tractor tires designed to push mud out of their way.

The medical records were long destroyed before I tried to get them. I only have what I've been told, other people's memories: brain swelling, time in the hospital. I've had no real, personal connection with it. No memories of it at all. For most of my life it was just something that just happened to me. Other than the very real healed fractures in my skull, it could have been a story about someone else.

I'm Complicated 60x40
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Fast forward 48 years. One evening lying in bed, something happened that to this day I still have a hard time explaining. A door opened, a switch turned on, a breaker flipped, a signal from the control room lost in transit, finally made it through. This door opening, a door I didn't even know existed, reintroducing me to a part of me locked away for 48 years. A lost part of me made himself known. I was able to hear for the first time a miner trapped underground unable to communicate with the surface.

Noise 60" x 72"
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Waves of emotion washed over me: joy from this reconnection, sadness from having been disconnected, anger for what happened, grief from the loss, wave after wave. I was elated to be whole and complete again even though I didn't know until that moment I was incomplete.

I didn't know this part of me was missing. I didn't know communication with this part of me had been severed. But when it was reestablished, I suddenly knew what was happening and why it was happening. I didn't have to put the pieces together. I understood it all in an instant.

The artist
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I have come to know this was a delayed traumatic response... very delayed. There are a lot of theories why something like this reconstitutes 48 years later, but no one knows.

While I was happy to be reconnected with this part of me, it didn't take long for other, darker emotional waves to roll in. The days and weeks that followed were a roller coaster of feelings that had never been felt before: grief for a childhood dog, the death of my grandfather, strong feelings being delivered unprocessed.

Fragments 60" x 48"
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This lost part of me wasn't just from the childhood accident. It also seemed to be the repository for every large feeling I should have had throughout my life. The control center for large emotions now was in overdrive, transmitting messages that were undeliverable until now. I was a bit of a wreck. It was an emotional roller coaster that largely overwhelmed me. I had no idea how to cope with, and didn't know, what was happening to me.

As I therapeutically work through this traumatic response and the healing that I need to do, I refer to this part of me that had been locked away for 48 years as Wado, a former nickname of mine. Wado, so long repressed, now wants a say in my life.

Self Portrait 48" x 36"
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I have feelings I never had before. I react differently to events. I find humor where I didn't, and things that used to be funny no longer are. The genie is out of the bottle and I can't put it back, nor do I want to. Rather, I continue to find ways to integrate this other part of me into my life.

"We" have come to an agreement, a way to cope and heal. I make time for Wado to paint. It's really his only request. He has a desire and need to express what we experienced, an overwhelming desire at times. Ask my family about the time I spend in my studio.

Alone 60" x 90"
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I attempt to get out of the way as much as possible. This is our bargain, a willing one. We're figuring out how to become one once again. I'm learning to adapt and cope with all that has happened and ultimately come to terms with this new me.

That is what this exhibition is, the result of this healing work. This lost part of me paints and, through this art I learn more about what I went through, what we went through.

These paintings represent feelings that can't be described. Traumatic events that don't have shape or form. They are interpretations of a traumatic experience.

The artist
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Traumatic events, memories, shame, and guilt all derive their power over us by remaining in the shadows, in a nebulous and murky form, the unseen monster under the bed. By putting these negative emotions on canvas, we can look at them, shine some light on them, so that their negativity is reduced. We can begin the journey of healing by simply looking at, talking about it and bringing the negative emotions out into the open.

I share this work for my own healing journey and with the hope that either the paintings themselves or the story behind them helps others in their healing journey. We are all in this together.

Instagram

Raw 60" x 60"
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Wade Sather is an artist living in Nelson, BC, Canada. Wade and his family (wife and son) are in the process of slowly immigrating to Mexico. He was born on a farm ten miles from a town of 300 people in the Canadian prairies, but has lived in Tokyo, Japan and traveled to 13 other countries.

He paints under the name Wado, given to him in Japan. His three years in Japan have been very influential on him. He has adopted many aspects of Japanese cultural such as minimalism and respect for others.

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