I am the designated, named and appointed slob here. Yet, when I have a particularly tasty bit of loot, it often disappears and becomes lost in the mess of someone else, the someone who names my messiness. There is so much more that I could share about that, have already shared and will share again in the future, but today I need my Dremel Tool and it is nowhere to be found. I know that it cannot be in any of the cleaned-out and divested places around the joint because, well, they are cleaned-out and divested of the things that I am capable of letting go at this moment.
So, the problem is finding that clever little tool so that I can use it to eviscerate a mannequin today. I have been looking forward to this for weeks, for many reasons. Without the means to remove parts of the torso so that I can build a tree inside and through and around the hapless pretend person, I am left to ponder what this divesting of his potential insides might mean. You know, it would be inconceivable that this project be manifesting without suffering intense examination of how the idea to gut this guy and build stuff inside of him came about.
I mean, just the idea of removing some of the outer surface of a pretend man and filling that empty space with the concepts and bits of pieces of something that would be a growing thing in the natural world and then illuminating those newly constructed insides is nearly buried under the weight of all of that symbolism. The mind staggers.
And, the mind will manifest what it is desperate to make known.
So, anyway, I have not exhibited for many years, gosh, at least six or seven. No shit. I stopped working in my studio or doing any kind of art because of a vision problem that made single-image, binocular vision impossible. It is a rare visual disorder (what an understatement that is...disorder) that fewer than 6,000 persons, worldwide, are estimated to have. Finding a doctor or other medical professional to listen to you without the old rolling of the eyes, much less a diagnosis is, perhaps, even more rare. But, I eventually did. And, eventually, I was privileged to be one of the people for whom this problem dramatically increased in symptoms and disability until driving, handling anything sharp or mechanical or even walking safely became a daily struggle to remain upright and without serious bodily injury. I found myself unable to confidently or safely do something as simple as carry a basket of laundry up the stairs, or remove a casserole from the oven or hold a baby. There were days when it was so distressing to be trapped in the disability that I had trouble holding a conversation, or a thought, or a hope.
It was terrible and fairly disgusting to be trapped in a body that could not function as I wanted, needed. After much experimentation and time, my doctors and I decided on an invasive and dramatic surgery that did solve most of the mobility and visual issues, but, in effect, only traded them for another disability. However, I am completely satisfied with the new physical stuff, because I could do absolutely nothing with the other kinds of disability except wait for the time when I was housebound and at the mercy of someone who would rather see me gone in one way or another. The new disability aspects are ones with which I can work, and it is time to pull up my bootstraps and get back to the studio.
Thus the sculpture. It has been a long time since I created anything of this size. I had forgotten that the planning and pondering are an essential part of the process, and as a result have been impatient and unkind to myself about what I have designated to be laziness about actually beginning the damn thing and being stuck in procrastination instead of forward movement.
Today seems to be the day that I begin the dirty work of this thing. In my mind's eye I can see the opening that I will be cutting into the mannequin's headless, armless and legless, from slightly-below-the-knees, form. He and his, so afflicted, friends were part of a large, performance piece sculpture from seven years ago and they were spray-painted white. His sojourn in the garage has chipped and abraded his surface, but I kind of like the rough and tumble look of a guy who cannot, were he real, be mobile, grasp a martini glass and take a slow and thoughtful sip. Too bad the theme of this exhibit is trees, because something to do with a social activity like martinis amongst fellow imbibers would be interesting. Perhaps that is a project for one of his buddies who are still piled in the corner of the garage.
I have the parts to build the tree in-and-outside of him. Hollow tubular pieces from an old Lang holiday card display, wires of all kinds and dimensions. Flotsam and jetsam of decades of living in and out of the real world, mostly out, I suspect. Otherwise, I would not find myself in such sad and lost personal straits.
I do not believe in randomness in the Universe. I believe in a kind and loving Universe where things may be temporarily difficult to the nth degree, but where those same things are there for a purpose, you know, like the clichéd and overused and overwrought 'learning opportunity'.
That said, I do not believe in fate. I am not a fatalist. I am of the belief that I chose all of the experiences of this fleshly life before I manifested, before I was born into this body, this time and space. I consciously chose my life, parents, child, friends, work, experiences and opportunities, and, yes, even spouse. I knew, before manifestation, that this life, as I have experienced it, is the alchemy that was essential for me to have this time around.
Around me, just beyond the edges of my awareness, my vision, lays the quantum soup. I live in it. It flows around me and moves me here and there and then over there. It supports me in ways, levels of wisdom of which I can only imagine, dream. Even when it is horrible and scary here, I know that I am not alone in some place where my struggle and pain exist in isolation, just for the sake of being worthless struggles and pointless pain.
There is meaning, real, down and dirty meaning in this life.
There is meaning in living in a circumstance where I loved, but did not choose well the person to whom I have devoted my life.
There is meaning in finding my life's works late in that life.
There is meaning in discovering, in exactly the right time, that being in and living in the moment may be distressing and frustrating to some of the people around me, but recognizing that and living it is essential to following my life's path with honor, self-respect and the manifestation of a life devoted to service.
There is meaning in the suffering of friends and family members who suffer, and accepting that being an observer of their pain, effort, how they do battle and how it all ends is a gift, a blessing to me in how I am able to be a part of it and benefit and learn from it and make it mine, not allowing any of it, not one, single, crystalline moment to pass without notice, consideration and respect.
There is meaning in relationships, however they present, in not being understood or respected just for who I am. That is certainly very sad, heartbreaking, but it is not wasted.
So. Taking a pretend man, removing parts of his outer shell and filling the empty space in his gut and chest with the symbols of life, is not a random or frivolous pursuit. When I was invited to be a part of this exhibit and was told the theme, my immediate thought was how interesting a tree built inside of a mannequin that I already had and for which I needed a purpose in order to justify keeping it around all these years would be. This opportunity was offered to me mid-way in my hundred days project and my first thoughts were that creating the sculpture would allow me to get rid of a ton of stuff that I have been saving for someun -remembered reasons. That it would be fun to drag out the power tools and adhesives, the soldering gun and saw, glue, paint, pound and craft my way into returning to the art that gave me so much pleasure and solace when I most needed it. And, I need it now. Again.
And, I am going to begin it today. Even knowing that it will bring criticism, disapproval and anger my way. Even knowing that, because it is time, and I deserve to have a little bit of happiness and fun around here, at least once in a while, you know?
This is coming a bit late in the process here this morning, but I am wondering what it means to consider the process of eviscerating something that is empty. The mind staggers.
Significant change comes with beginning the journey, with the first step, and first, I have to find that darn Dremel Tool. Rats. Double rats.
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