Several years ago Mike created Outside the Circle, which you can read about on a previous blog. Around the same time, he created this statue:
Part of the story is mine. Shortly before Mike created this piece, I had my first miscarriage. What they say is true: you never understand how difficult it is until you go through one yourself. I remember talking to Mike about the sacrifices that so many women make. We give up our bodies for years at a time. Our bodies sometimes fail us. Our minds suffer when things don't go as planned. Emotions are high, and so are the stakes. This statue, aptly named "Immortality," is the embodiment of those sacrifices.
Not only do women bear children, but we don't bear children. We adopt and we foster care, and we babysit our nieces and nephews. We lose sleep. We toss and turn. We worry. We lose our marbles.
Sometimes, women can look down at themselves and see only stretchmarks. We a wreck of the person we used to be. We see a body that cannot take anymore, that simply won't get pregnant, or stay pregnant, or carry a healthy child to term. Sometimes we see better things. We see strength and stability. We see a mom that can survive. We see an aunt, a friend, a daughter. We see love in all its beauty.
Notice how finished parts of the statue are, and how others are more impressionistic. The hands are so defined, and they draw attention directly to this women's abdomen. We wonder what she's looking at. Is she pregnant? Did she lose a baby? Is she unable to become pregnant?
Leo Tolstoy defines art as an expression of a feeling or experience in such a way that the audience to whom the art is directed can share that feeling or experience (Angelfire). So, let's not forget that men experience these things too, only in a different way. During my miscarriage, Mike saw my pain, and it became his pain. When I sobbed, when I broke down at times, he was there with me. The loss was painful for him, too. We had made that child together, one that would never be born. We both learned a new kind of grief. This was his tribute to me, to the loss, and to all women.
 |
| Immortality |
Not only do women bear children, but we don't bear children. We adopt and we foster care, and we babysit our nieces and nephews. We lose sleep. We toss and turn. We worry. We lose our marbles.
Sometimes, women can look down at themselves and see only stretchmarks. We a wreck of the person we used to be. We see a body that cannot take anymore, that simply won't get pregnant, or stay pregnant, or carry a healthy child to term. Sometimes we see better things. We see strength and stability. We see a mom that can survive. We see an aunt, a friend, a daughter. We see love in all its beauty.
Notice how finished parts of the statue are, and how others are more impressionistic. The hands are so defined, and they draw attention directly to this women's abdomen. We wonder what she's looking at. Is she pregnant? Did she lose a baby? Is she unable to become pregnant?
Leo Tolstoy defines art as an expression of a feeling or experience in such a way that the audience to whom the art is directed can share that feeling or experience (Angelfire). So, let's not forget that men experience these things too, only in a different way. During my miscarriage, Mike saw my pain, and it became his pain. When I sobbed, when I broke down at times, he was there with me. The loss was painful for him, too. We had made that child together, one that would never be born. We both learned a new kind of grief. This was his tribute to me, to the loss, and to all women.
Comments
Post a Comment