TRAPPED 2018
I believe there is some truth when people say that you only remember the good moments in life because my brain harbours a large cow pat used to fill a certain hole left over from my past.
I have no solid visual memories of the time I spent as a married woman. I know this is some sort of conscious choice, but I can’t even remember what my ex husband looked like. However, when I attempt to really focus on my memories of our life together, all I experience is a dull physical feeling of being trapped under a heavy blanket. The only moments I can recall as a couple, are those where he did something that was stupid, and I laughed at him. In short, If I played a chronological film in my head of these years, he’s not in it.
This piece is like the final act of a play where the word marriage has become a biased tidy single polaroid picture. One that is safely tinted to resemble an old photo, echoing my desire to control how I want to remember this period of my life. It personifies a life I can’t believe I ever lived.
By making this experience of marriage into a piece of art, I have removed the cow pat, given my forgotten years substance and put any emotional residue that escaped my convenient amnesia, a structure. Although, I have to admit that it made me laugh out loud, when my brain metamorphosed something as complex and messy as a bad relationship, into a gold paper cup, some glitter, a rock and some plastic swords.
I would be married, but I’d have no wife. I would be married to a single life.
-Charles Bukowski.
I’d like to have this
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