Return to the Derelict Barn 31 Years Later: 8 May 2018

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Thirty‑one years after painting a derelict barn, I return to the site and finally understand the symbolism behind my artwork. This article explores trauma, memory, and the hidden messages in my art.

My Journey to the Barn in 2018

The secret messages of my landscape settings become clear to me 32 years after I uncover horrific truths about my toddlerhood. In the summer of 1985, I would place a dead tree near the mouth of a railway tunnel. I would then produce alfresco oil paintings there for my degree show.

A year later, I would apply the same treatment to a derelict barn, placing a large plank over the doorway. I would then produce alfresco oil paintings of the barn.

Oil paintings of a derelict barn and plank in a cornfield 1986 Madeleine Watson
My paintings of the barn with plank completed summer 1986

During both times, I would suffer bouts of depression and intrusive thoughts as a man called Aidan haunted my brain. I believed he was a fictional character or a childhood familiar as I knew no one of that description. I would later learn that a half-uncle had lived in the cottage with us when I was 3 and that he had done nasty things on the sly. My novel has shown to possess secret messages to my toddlerhood.

The horrors within my subconscious would also seep into my landscape paintings in the form of rape symbols that I would fail to see until I was 51 years old.

Diary entry of 29 June 1986 showing scribbled handwriting in blue ink Madeleine Watson
29 July 1986 I'm suffering stomach cramps, vivid fantasies and depression. My erratic handwriting shows my troubled mind.

PTSD Symptoms caused by Landscape Settings

Whilst I was painting the railway tunnel, I was on the pill, known to curb period pains.

However, whilst I was painting the derelict barn, I wasn’t. For 3 months on the trot, I suffered agonizing period pains with unexplained abdominal cramps in between. It seemed I had created a rape symbol in the landscape where I would frequent. This seemed to trigger physical symptoms of PTSD due to my stolen toddlerhood.

I also experience crippling grief whilst painting a representation of loss of childhood. I am dismayed when Nan moves out as she formed a link to my lost toddlerhood. My fear of losing my identity seems to reflect how an unheard 3-year old must have felt.

And finally, I am troubled by triggering films such as Aliens, Psycho II and The Thornbirds.

Pen drawings of a distorted railway tunnel, dead tree and gate Madeleine Watson
My disturbed drawings of the railway tunnel in 1986.

Visiting the Ghost of the Derelict House

Eighteen months after I learn the truth about my toddlerhood, I decide to visit both painting sites. The prospect is daunting but something inside me won’t settle unless I go.

On 5 May 2018, I trek to the railway tunnel. Thirty-two years have passed since the troubled student in me had painted there in 1985. What I would find was a desolate spot. The gate and dead tree are gone. I leave the location grief-stricken. A separate article has been dedicated to the day I visited the railway tunnel.

A few days later I would visit the derelict barn. I expected to find cairn-like structures or a few turrets, but what I would find surprised me.

black and white photos of a sinister derelict barn 1987 Madeleine Watson
Photos I took of the barn in 1987. I had placed a plank at the doorway. (Feb 1988).

The Shock of Finding Only Rubble

On 8 May 2018, I walk to the Stables Farm after requesting permission to trek over the fields there. The farmer’s mother is happy for me to traverse the property once I show her photos of my paintings. Of course, I don’t tell her that I had used her barn to create a rape symbol in the landscape.

The day is beautiful and hot. The farmer is muck-spreading. The whir of his tractor recedes as I follow the hedge-line to a large oak where he directs me to the barn.

After climbing over a few fences, I am at a loss. I can’t find it. The barn was a brooding bulwark of walls. Surely it couldn’t have vanished like that. And then I see a pile of rubble bordering the next field.

Walking track through fields, sheep and lambs Madeleine Watson
My approach to the barn. A lamb emerging from a pen is the first thing I see. (May 2018).

I approach the fence and spot a sheep pen before a lamb emerges. I then spot a cluster of sheep standing on a mound nearby.

Could that be it? A few piles of bricks give the game away. This is the barn. What was once a brooding dereliction has become a nice spot for sheep grazing.

The Sheep on the Ruins: A New Meaning

The lamb continues to gaze at me. The close-up in the photo above shows the lamb within the pen before it emerges. I am astonished to realize the lamb is standing at the doorway of where I had placed the plank.

Oil paintings of a derelict barn and a herd of sheep with lambs Madeleine Watson
Position of sheep in relation to where the barn once stood. (May 2018).

I am numb-struck but climb over the fence and get on with taking pictures of the barn site. It is a lovely spot and the sheep stare curiously. I don’t want to disturb them and keep my distance. As though owning the place, they stand on a mound of bricks where the barn once stood. The meek surely do inherit the earth!

Rubble in a field of where a farmer's barn once stood Madeleine Watson
Barn reduced to rubble leaving only life. (May 2018).


After experiencing the desolation and grief of the railway tunnel a few days ago, I encounter life at the barn site. A lamb emerges from a pen near where the doorway and plank had been, as though being given birth to. The other sheep stand on a mound of bricks as though they own the place.

The brooding bulwark that was once a symbol of trauma is no more. What is left is life.
My book, Mirror Image Shattered gives the full account of how I finally learned the truth about my toddlerhood.

Sheep grazing in a field at the site of a derelict barn Madeleine Watson
The barn in 1987 and in 2018. Only life remains. (Above Feb 1988, below May 2018).

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Intro

Welcome. I’m Madeleine Watson, a writer, artist, diarist and researcher. At the age of 51, I discovered a strange man had lived in my toddlerhood home. He stole my virginity before I had awoken to the world. The year was 1968.

The purpose of this blog is to shed light upon something humanity cannot normally see: a stolen toddlerhood. This blog documents what my life has been like.

My work spans childhood trauma, PTSD, split identity, and twinhood via hard research drawn from decades of personal documentation.

If you’re new here, you can begin with the Start here page, which introduces the prologue leading to the 10‑part series ending with the moment I learned the truth about my toddlerhood. Or you can buy my books .

Thank you for reading.

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