A lot of my artwork is about the experience of being in a
body because this takes up a huge part of my life. One of my favorite quotes ever is by one of
my favorite inspirational people ever, the Butoh dancer Kazuo Ohno, who said
something like if you want to know yourself you can start by observing
everything you can about your own body.
As a child I was gentle and wimpy. I was always the last one chosen for the
kickball team. At 12 I grew too fast for
my bones and my knee got permanently messed up.
It’s been fixed, but still is not normal and one leg is much smaller and
weaker than the other because I never do the therapy like I’m supposed to.
At 21 I was like an old woman, always tired. It’s hard to remember now, but my energy
level was listless as rotten flowers. A
model in my art school, an absolutely beautiful dancer named Kendra, invited me
to come with her to a Qigong class in the lower east side because she thought I
was far too young to have so little energy.
I did go, and was it a great calming experience that solved
my problem? No it was not. It was horrible! It was probably one of the most physically
horrible experiences of my life! We did
standing meditation, you just breathe and stand. You relax your head- then your shoulders-
arms- chest- stomach- at this point my body screamed at me that it was going to
fly to pieces and I was going to DIE if I relaxed my stomach. I bravely kept taking deep breaths but my
body was not kidding. I passed out in
front of everyone- crash! My gentle but
firm teacher led me to her kitchen and gave me a blanket and water and I
finished the class lying down under her kitchen table trembling and curled up
into a ball.
She said it meant I was sensitive to Qi and if you have
reactions like this, Qigong is the best thing you can do. It’s healing you.
I did stick Qigong not so much to heal myself but because of the beauty of the
movements. You see it was Soaring Crane
Qigong, and I loved to move like that huge and beautiful bird and that feeling
of flying. But off and on I did have to deal with cold sweats, terrors, nausea,
shaking, and there were more times when I did have to go back under the
table.
Later in my life I did simpler forms of Qigong that were not
so difficult and had a good experience with them, but I still find it too
powerful an energy rush for me so now I do yoga which seems for me
gentler. But I do meditate (sitting
down) each morning, and some of the feelings from that first Qigong lesson I
still am dealing with, in sitting meditation.
So meditation is supposed to be really calming, la la
la. Not for me, not usually. For me it’s like a workout. My experience with meditation is so visceral
and so physical it can be more draining than a visyana yoga class. And I’m not a beginner beginner, really, it’s
been 2 years since I’ve been doing this.
The same nausea and panic. The
same voice that screams if you relax your stomach you will fall into pieces and
you are going to DIE. (But now I know
that if you feel like you’re going to pass out, for heaven’s sake STOP! Lie down!)
But lately, after 2 years, an amazing thing has
happened. First of all these difficult times come around less often. Secondly when the panic does come, and all the
physical unpleasantness, I never fell to pieces and I’m not
dead. The intensity of the feelings
lessened, so much. I am able to ride
them out and I can observe them and they do go away.
I find this process very interesting, the process of the
movement of energy inside me, like weather, like storms and storms passing.
And I started writing about it to try- can I capture on paper something
so subtle, so delicate? To even perceive
it in my body I have to be so still (all these crazy feelings only come when I sit still and breathe, not when I'm walking around doing my day). I
have tried to remember this passage of energy in words and in some drawings.
It’s a very simple movement of energy
I am tracing. I feel tightness like a
black ball of tar in the solar plexus (that’s right under your heart, the area
in the triangle of the rib cage.) Then
the tightness dissolves (crying often accompanies this) and a lightness fills
me like clear as running water. That is
what I would like to share today.
The sketches are from a sketchbook and the pencil mark is really tentative,
soft. I had to doctor them up with the contrast in photoshop so you can
see them on your computer.
The black ball of tar under the ribcage:
One day as it dissolved it was like a flock of white birds
literally flew out of my chest.
Sometimes, if I don’t get too scared of it, it is a
tremendous energy a like gold light
Some writings from my journal:
Feeling of anxiety:
drawing a soft breath
I can pet the baby animal in my lungs
with a touch.
Between my lungs and under my heart
there is a baby bird
with a tiny heart that beats too fast
*
Feeling of fear:
my stomach is small and black like a tar ball.
inside there is a hole.
the hole appears to be small
but goes back as far as the universe.
in a place with no ground
I cannot rest
I’ll fall to pieces…
*
Crying again:
tiny bird for a stomach
little claws, for a heart
press behind me
hot, snot, salty
tears press slowly through
if you can’t bear it, who will?
*
How does it feel to cry?
Stomach is red, hard,heavy, black and filled
with something ashy, something hot
tight violin strings.
tears,
I know you’re there.
How does it feel to cry?
Shivers that start on your back
melt stomach
warm eyes
poignant and tart.
Morning is gray like a mockingbird
breath of daylight
my lungs are two white flowers.
Stomach goes soft,
like a limp magnolia,
cool and hollow in the middle,
a goose’s belly,
a baby rabbit,
a breast,
white lemon scent of a star,
this is the fragrance of the moon.
Top row of teeth clench
bottom row of teeth
nickel-plated chain
they are falling open
like the soft decaying petals
of a flower.
a Clear feeling:
With every breath that pushes it out
I make a big red rose in my belly.
My throat is a shaft of sunlight
My head is just a basket for soft green leaves
And my smile is the sun thru rainclouds
