Jun 11, 2012

missing parts


Last week I had my last painting class of the year at the museum. Painting is something I do for fun and just for myself -- I am not very good at it. Back in February, right before my first hospitalization, we were working on a self-portrait project. The assignment was to take a xeroxed photograph of our faces and then break it into 25 parts, painting each panel separately and then finally pasting it all together to see the whole face.

The idea is to see each aspect of the face abstractly - in other words not to see an eye as an eye, for example, but just a random collection of darks and lights with a particular contour. It was a 3- or 4-week long project, and half-way through, I had the partial placental abruption of Aminadav's placenta.

When I came back to class after the twins had been born and died, I had a vague recollection that I had left the self-portrait project incomplete but I had no desire to go back to it. It just served as another reminder of where I was, what I was doing, and what my happiness and anticipation was like in the weeks and days preceding the darkness that was to come.

For our last class, we were supposed to discuss 3 or 4 pieces that we felt were most representative of our work and our progress throughout the year. My half-complete tiled self-portrait was long forgotten by me, but my teacher apparently found it at the bottom of a drawer filled with projects from the winter, and when I walked into the classroom, I was met with the half-complete painting tacked on the wall.

I really didn't want to spend any time looking at the self-portrait, which I had not seen nor really thought about since I was pregnant with the twins. I could not, however, ignore the obvious irony of my own missing parts in the painting.

In the other painting, something other than my xeroxed face was suddenly and unexpectedly left wholly incomplete.

14 comments:

  1. You write so beautifully. I am so sorry for all you are having to endure. I am so sorry for all the loss that this road is forcing you to face. None of it is fair. You continue to be in my thoughts.

    ReplyDelete
  2. That would have freaked me out to walk in to the classroom with a half-complete painting of myself tacked to the wall. An incomplete self, indeed. *hugs*

    ReplyDelete
  3. Such a poignant post. Sending you a hug...

    ReplyDelete
  4. I have been around even thought I have stayed quiet.

    I am just sending you a warm hand squeeze. I know the missing pieces.

    ReplyDelete
  5. This is so beautiful and heart-breaking. I can't imagine being faced with a visual representation of those missing pieces. Sending you hugs.

    ReplyDelete
  6. What a post. I can only imagine how difficult it was to see that painting. Giving you big Hugz!

    ReplyDelete
  7. In a way, it's so appropo to just have it there, unfinished, right where it was at the time this all happened. I also would not have been happy walking in to see it there though.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Tangible missing pieces, the ones you can really see, seem like they would be the hardest. Wishing you strength and healing through the coming months (and years.)

    ReplyDelete
  9. Hi, here from ICLW. I'm so sorry for your losses and all you've been through and are currently going through. I hope this painful time passes soon and you find peace and resolution.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Hello from ICLW. That half-portrait is so beautiful and so heart-wrenching at the same time. Thank you for sharing. I'm so sorry for the pain you have suffered. I know it's a journey, but I hope things get easier from here on out.

    ReplyDelete
  11. I'm so so sorry that I'm behind on your news and only just realised. My heart goes out to you and all that you've been through... thinking of you with all my heart xoxo

    ReplyDelete
  12. I have been thinking of you and wondering how you are...hoping you are ok.

    ReplyDelete