"Go ahead, tell THAT story Maryanne; you know - the one no one wants to hear about."

The day after taking down a show is always a weird day...I wanted to wait until it was over to share the meaning of the one assemblage that I created specifically for this show. Not having a lot of time to prepare for this installation and trying to find a reason, a source of substance and inspiration - I thought to myself...god, do you do a show about your dad losing his leg? Shaking my head "no"...Do you do a show about a miscarriage? Shaking my head again, "NO!".

Here's the deal; since I started this journey to be "the artist" I haven't really failed. I also haven't taken a lot of risks. Having been in the business as a Gallery Director for so many years I've had such an upper hand on the business. NOT that I'm boasting success etc..etc..but just that I'm informed.

This is where the other voice, the voice that wants so desperately to get to the next level says, "Go ahead, tell THAT story Maryanne; you know - the one no one wants to hear about. The one that makes people cringe....what does that look like?" I'm pretty sure I'm the one who really doesn't want to see it the most; or deal with it.

See, that's the thing. That's what pushed me to do it. I thought; what if it works? What if you start to feel better...what if you start to heal? Hell - you preach enough about the healing energy of art; fucking walk the walk.

So, I wrote the letter...and it started there:

"I wanted to make you paper dolls. Handmade from vintage paper, cut outs; parts put together by your tiny little hands. Perhaps you would make an arm a leg, a shoulder a shin; just like your mom. Awkward and peculiar. We would string them together and give them glitter dresses, crowns, suits of armor. I would have let you color on the walls. I would have colored with you. I wanted to bring you flowers from our garden and tickle your nose with fairy dust.

I wanted you.

The thought of the pain of losing you exhausts me. How no one understands what that feels like. How suddenly you are alone in the biggest loss of your life. How rage makes you want to rip your skin off, bloody your veins, tack your arm flesh to your shoulders and run around screaming like a blood soaked angel.

You are my angel. The only angel I’ve ever had…for a moment. I was almost your mom. A mom. Then I wasn’t. Then I was me, again, alone, again.

Lie to me. Tell me you love me.

Take my limbs, rip them off; give them away. Leave me alone. Please. I just want to sit here in the dirt digging with ghost arms until the hole fits what’s left of me." 

That was the first letter I had written about it..no draft; it just fell onto the paper just like that.

Paper dolls. The image just kinda stuck with me...I kinda thought about myself as a kid and the things I loved. I would have loved to draw on the walls. I didn't realize it until the show started to go up all of the connections to what I wrote...to the artwork. 

The artwork combines both events in my life...the image of the paper doll has it's limbs floating; they are stitched down onto transparency paper, the heavy metal ring hovers above the missing torso - or where the womb would have been, the swollen belly, the lost baby. The reflection shows what could have been...the hands suspending a very thin string holding the weight of it all...the bullet dropped into a cup below the paper doll...nearby rolled dice. #7; nails floating around the figure; one specifically dance on the rim of the glass holding the die. Everything is barely holding on. Sinew. Fiber. Heart. 

I often wonder if anyone gets me. 

The key was added by a friend who actually does get me. Maybe too much. The show also resulting in a pretty major healing event. To all who shared your equally devastating losses; I hope you felt the healing energy of art...because I can now, also, talk the talk - and believe it. 

In conclusion..and with out going on too much about it all - "leap and the net will appear" is a phrase I have hanging in my work space and is often the push I give myself when I'm on the edge. I am so grateful for this experience, this artwork, this creative journey, the people who believe in me, in their own voice, in the importance of art. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much. xoxo