a major round of Sciatica brought me to the ER on monday. i spent two days laying in bed before making the call to go to the hospital and i've been laying in bed ever since. luckily, it's not as bad this time around. i am able to walk, albeit slowly. i am able to sleep, albeit with the aid of Vicodin and muscle relaxers. i am able to work on projects from my bed, though i wish i was out in the world, making money and friends, and taking pictures. it's hard for me to lay around like this. it truly is.
the first time i dealt with back problems was during my last year in art school. crocheting was the only art-making method i could utilize while laying flat on my back and not moving for hours upon hours at a time. i suppose it's no wonder that i view the skill as one of mending, of catharsis, of process, of healing.
yesterday, in my warm opiate surrender, i started making a new text piece that i'm not sure will be a yarnbomb or a scarf. perhaps it will be both. perhaps i'll wear it for as long as the cold weather calls for it and then transform it by stitching it to a pole somewhere.
i like that idea.
i like this notion of giving away my history. or better said: gifting away my history.
this work has so much to do with the conflation of the public and private self. i take texts from my diary or lyrics from songs i like (in this case, the lyric comes from the Lady Gaga song 'Dance in the Dark') or bits of my personal autobiography and stitch them in to sweaters, scarves, and blankets. i take the text of my fear and desire and twist them in to some sort of signage... my story being told one yarnbomb at a time on city streets.
it's a game of exposure, of exploration, where the photographic image also plays a very heavy part. which image of me is real? which image is the most honest? the image you've met in person? or the image i make in my diary? what does it mean to sit naked in front of a mirror, taking pictures of one's own reflection wrapped in the lyrics of a favorite song? especially when the chosen text is "she's a mess. she's a mess. she's a mess". especially when the naked body in the mirror's reflection is a body in pain.
maybe i was a mess this month in more ways than one. currently, i am a physical mess but there was also the fact of my mother's birthday and death anniversary to contend with. those events are exactly a week apart: january 12th and 19th. and amid all this, i'm trying to learn my own curves of conscience, the twists within my personality and sensibility. i'm learning about myself through these moments of exposure. i'm learning what i'm capable of and who i want to be.
i felt lonely today being cooped up like this. i made a choice just to bare it. i reached for my crochet hook and let the soothing tingle of medications wash over me.
these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.
thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.
my artist website is here.
my artist website is here.