Blood Water Paint

A verse novel, where multiple pieces of verse are mixed throughout the tale bring the emotions forward, as Artemisia’s pain, anger and determination step forward to take readers into the tumult she is experiencing in a life full of subjugation, loss, abuse and memory of her mother’s stories lead us through the tale. Losing her mother when she was 12, Artemisia had two choices – enter the convent or continue the life she had been leading: mixing pigment and painting, with no hope for recognition of her own talents. She chose to stay. A life of coddling her brothers and serving her father: painting commissions that he would sign his name to, hidden away from the world with only memories of her mother’s stories and love her company. When her father is jockeying for a new commission that will bring money and recognition, she is introduced to a ‘teacher’, one who recognized her talent, but used flattery and Artemisia’s own recognition of her place (in fact, all women’s place) in society – raping her and then callously disregarding her claims and her art. Unwilling to sit back, she uses the strength gained from her mother’s stories: tales of biblical women who’s strength, courage and daring defied convention of the time and the patriarchy to take a stand and make their stories known. Artemisia shares her story of rape and abuse, and the case: though multiple witnesses for the defense that impugn her character and womanhood, the defense based solely on making the victim the guilty party. When her only recourse in testimony is the rack-like contraption that, using bandage and pressure, pulls her hands apart- the rapist is found guilty because the court finally believes her story. Holding tightly to two women of her mother’s stories, Judith and Susanna, the damage to her hands heals slowly, but her spirit, while bruised and bashed about, buoyed by what is now a sisterhood with the two women of her mother’s stories, she starts to paint again: slowly and painfully, because the paint is all that makes her whole. Memorable as much for what is not: the lack of rights for women, the lack of opportunity, the lack of her father’s protection, the lack of the maid’s support, lack of a mother to hold and guide her, even a lack of literacy: STILL Artemisia manages to tell a story of determination and persistence. The need to move forward and share her own view of the world and those she commits to canvas, the need to continue: perhaps not without fear of what may happen, but recognizing that even when the worst has happened – there is more after. Originally a play, the verse does play into a sense of character for Artemisia: understanding that she could not read, and that her life truly consisted of the attic studio, the house below, and occasional trips to the market in their tiny neighborhood of Rome, the verse speaks to more. It’s verse that expresses great pain and longing, and if occasionally immature in the construct, it feels as if a teenager (even one in the 17th century) could have written it – bringing a solid emotion forward. I’m still undecided if this is a story appropriate for younger teens because of the rawness of content, I do think that it is a story that needed telling: both as a piece that shows survival, but for the way Artemisia’s mother tried to warn her of the dangers of being a woman in a man’s world. I received an eArc copy of the title from the publisher via Edelweiss for purpose of honest review. I was not compensated for this review: all conclusions are my own responsibility.

This book is stunning from beginning to end. The poetic prose forced me to slow down and appreciate what Artemesia went through. She is a feminist hero, an example of how sexual assault isn't merely isolated to the act but has residual echoes (this book adds depth to her art work). It's rare to read about a strong female character and I'm grateful for having read this.

Beautiful. Such a delicate writing. The words just dig into your whole soul. Such good application of twist in words. I felt different emotions at the same time, whether it was happiness, sadness, pity, or anger. It was a miracle. I love this book.