i think often of the quote by Frida Kahlo “I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.”
i think about the chronically ill. i think about the times i’ve been accused of navel-gazing or some similar intended slight. i think about how much time, how many years my entire world did not extend much farther beyond the boundaries of my skin. and i think about this habit i’ve acquired of being uncomfortable with capitalising i.
i have become small not because of being ill, but because having watched my sense of Self slowly fade into illness and the despair of it, i, in my creative exploration of these experiences have been accosted with accusations of navel-gazing and narcissism. God forbid. And so in that fragile state, of illness and of exile, i sought to become as inoffensive as possible, smaller, invisible even. SILENT. In a way, i sought oblivion.
Since moving to Potsdam, i have been slowly finding my feet again. Slowly exploring the boundaries of my skin. Slowly stretching into these new boundaries as i heal. These beautiful feet hug the earth as they take me on long meandering walks exploring my new environment, and exploring these new boundaries as my physical limitations become less limiting.
i started drawing again. Sketching here and there. And i found my eyes and my pen were drawn downward in awe. On pain days i draw the beautiful legs that still carry me on these extraordinary adventures. i honour these legs, these feet. Aching. Now walking without any aids. Now remembering to dance again, twice a week at a contemporary dance class. Aching still. And through it all, i am still the fall down girl. Through it all, Sandy cheers me on, and lifts me up when i fall down. Literally. i draw my mushy floppy legs and i wonder what adventures they will take me on tomorrow, because i am learning to trust that tomorrow is a hopeful place.
i was going to simply share my latest study in navel-gazing to instagram with a whimsical blurb. But as i wrote the blurb, it grew, it became less quippy. So i copy and pasted into notes, and it kept growing. And my hands were shaking - with rage, with excitement, with joy, with hope, with healing. i decided to reclaim my navel, my skin, the space that my skin holds. i decided to reclaim my voice. i realised this was to become a project. A Study in Navel-Gazing. i realised this is just the beginning of something that is important… to me. i realised this project is for me - a collection of imperfect sketches of imperfect moments, a love letter of sorts, a meditation on being in my body. I want to share it with you, here on substack.
These self-portraits will continue as they have begun - gazing downward. i trust they will eventually extend upwards and outwards. i am not ready to draw the gaze to my own face. There is too much still in my eyes that i am not yet prepared to contemplate. But the journey there is the adventure.
Liebe Grüße
andréa
PS. My friend Nigel just celebrated his 81st trip around the sun and the publishing of his latest children’s book with a YouTube reading. i highly recommend you follow this link. Phyllis and Grace by Nigel Gray
PPS. In the event that they may be of value to anyone but myself, i may consider having prints made on request at a price. But originals will not be for sale. If this is something you would like, send me an email and we shall discuss.