There is something about a naked, fully unedited, bathroom/laundry room/cat feeding station online tour that is enough to make this author’s mother go pale.
“Jennnnnnn,” she said, in a pitch somewhere in the garden of a plea and a whine and a mortified whisper, “PEOPLE ARE SEEING THIS. AREN’T YOU WORRIED? DID YOU HAVE TO ADD, ‘I LIVE LIKE A PIG?’ YOU DON’T ALWAYS LIVE LIKE THAT!”
I thought about that. This is where The Box comes in handy. It’s my one-work gallery hanging on the wall of my blog, with the collection changing very frequently. Do I live like a pig?, I mused, as we drove out of the Rite-Aid parking lot where she had asked me that question.
I was a studio art major as an undergrad. Once, for an individualized study project (how’s that for a term?), I had my boyfriend at the time pose nude as all the letters of the alphabet. I liked saying, “Drop and give me a Y!” That was a nice letter. I translated what he was doing into the quality of line that you see in Egon Schiele’s work. Fascinating stuff, both technically, and…uh, yeah. I was good. A+ on that project, for sure. Visual Art Street Cred.
Later on down the line, I received my MFA from Sarah Lawrence College with a double major in Acting and Playwriting. 4.0 GPA. I got plenty of street cred there too as a Theatre Arteeste, is what I’m saying. I went straight from there to NYC, baby, where I worked crap jobs by day and worked as an actor by night. The outlandish “art” I worked on? Sometimes it got covered in the Village Voice. And a play or two that I wrote was reamed out by The New York Times (if you’re going to be impaled on a stake, you might as well be impaled by Vlad the Impaler, is how I liked to think about it, when I wasn’t hiding under the mattress).
Fast-forward to this life. You’re more familiar with this one. Familiar. Like family. I like that. You know I’m a writer. You know about the divorce, the bipolar, about my great kids. You know me less as an artist.
The genuinely interesting and intimidating thing about outing myself as bipolar is the question: Is THIS where the fear really begins? Unlike a visual artist, whose brushstrokes are more difficult to interpret, is everything I do or say or write going to be taken at purely face value? And God forbid, used against me in some way, as further proof of illness, and not creativity?
Slippery stuff, no? Particularly difficult for a mother fighting for her own life—and trust me, kids, that ain’t drama. I am a mother fighting to show her daughters that she has some life left in her, and isn’t living just for them.
I wish I danced. Art with no words! Can’t touch that! Bliss! No “HONEY, DID YOU HAVE TO DO THAT PLIE INTO THE ARABESQUE? PEOPLE WILL TALK” in the Rite-Aid parking lot.
I wish I felt called to draw, to work with charcoal and pastels again. Go on. Point to the single brushstroke that says I’m really nuts and that I’m not trying hard enough. Take your time. I’ll wait.
Right now I am drawn toward the absurd, toward performance that plays with the absurd, the words that stir a sticky pot of honesty—but when the spoon comes out, it’s something different altogether.
I think a gal who scored a big fat 4.0 in her theatre MFA can pull that off, baby.
I think I am working on something.
Something fearless.
{ 28 comments… read them below or add one }
I’m glad to hear it. We must be fearless. So you want one of my t-shirts? “I’m Bipolar.” (Proud is implied) Most of the folks in my therapy group want to keep it hidden– and I very much understand that line of thinking. I think, however, in order to change the stigmas that surround mental illness, we’ve got to come out of the closet, so to speak. Would love to talk with you more– have you checked out my “children’s book?” Sent it to you awhile back (no worries) and am still working on it. Self transformation is big, hot, and necessary. I’m charmed by your work and look to be there when you’re dancing. Perhaps we can share a jig or two.
I love the box – and your blog – and your openness in inviting us into your writing and your thoughts and even your bathroom (and I do feel better about my own bathroom – or at least not alone in my midlewy, towel-filled, humid little room).
I think you are fierce and fearless and lovely.
Your laundry is in your bathroom, it has to be a mess. You can see my bathroom, but you vill ncvair see der laundryhorror!
And the bipolar, ah your pendelum just swings a little further than the average peoples. Love you babygirl.
“I am a mother fighting to show her daughters that she has some life left in her, and isn’t living just for them.”
I have a feeling you’ll win this fight, in glorious, painted, dancing color.
Girl, if you keep making up titles with the built-in double entendres, there will be no behavin’ ’round here. Might just send YOU a box with some junk in it, you knowwhatimsayin’? (Tell me if you do, because sometimes I don’t.)
Your “individualized study project” sounds suspiciously like my own “fraternity initiations” from back in the day. Seems we may have even more in common than I first thought. I can do a really fabulous “X”, though with an occasional dangling participle.
Good luck with the fearless thing.
Which boyfriend? I’d rather contemplate that instead of your bathroom.
Go, Jenn, Go!
A woman I met in college did an art project that involved taking photos of little, green, plastic army men standing on my friend’s penis.
I was never hip enough to understand that.
Probably why I was an econ major. Nothing hip about that!
Keep that fearlessness. Keep it. Hold it tight.
Fearless sounds pretty damn good right now.
OMG Jenn….I just could NOT love you more than I do right this very fearless minute!!!! This is FABULOUS NESS all of it. I just watched VforVendetta last night for the first time and it had a fearlessessness theme that inspired me greatly AS YOU ARE DOING. I love love love that you showed us your deep dark messy bathroom!! My bathroom looks very much like that most days and my laundry is never caught up. DONT you DARE let anyone organize you. THIS is why my old blog was called organized chaos LOL
hot DIGGITY, mamarteeeste!
stay fierce.
xoxoxoxol
hot DIGGITY, mamarteeeste!
stay fierce.
xoxoxoxol
oops, sorry about the double post. there was a hiccup here
Ha ha! That was so awesome. Thanks for sharing. It DID make me feel better! And I LOVE that you have Christmas lights in your bathroom.
Love your box.
Not, you know, in a weird way.
Pan is always sideways. You can’t “pan up”. Tilt up, even if it’s a slow continuous movement.
And please buy a small tripod for the self-portrait stuff.
Thank you, thank you! Not because your bathroom/laundry room is messy….girl, that just happens to us all sometimes. And hey, sometimes it’s cleaner. And well, don’t come look at my dining room. At least the bathroom/laundry room makes total sense. My dining room is supposed to have a table and chairs and that’s it. But no, I can’t see the table and the chairs are for cats and their catty things.
Someone up there said don’t you dare let someone organize you, and YES. THAT. You are you. I like you being human. You’re awesome!
I like the looks of your blog!! Havent been around for a while, you can tell. So you are an artist being a polar bear being an artist? It doesnt matter where it all comes from as long as you get it out. And it doesnt matter what you do, you can still get nagged on by your mother. What if you dance AND take your clothes off? That will qualify for some instant nagging, for sure.
And your bathroom made made me feel better. How about the kitchen next time?
I too have the shared litter box/bathroom arrangement. It is quite literally the opposite of Feng Shui. What I love about your attitude is that you OWN IT. You are a hot mess and have inspired me to make a New Year’s Resolution: I too live like a pig, and I am going to OWN IT. No more guilt. I declare 2010 to be the Year of Living Shamelessly!
You really did make me feel better about the toothpaste-encrusted sink and grimy yellow toilet inhabiting my own bathroom. Of course both must be rectified before the Mother comes to visit on Christmas Day. But for now, I’ll just wallow.
Throw the scales away! Here’s to a new year free of scales, with plenty of chocolates and wine. A very merry winter solstice to you, my friend (whom I’ve never met). I think of you often.
ooo, i love the new lay out and the pic of you at top is great
YES.
Love the new look! You never cease to amaze me with your talent and creativity.
Finally, I too am learning to let go of the things I agonize over. Two seemingly insignificant words are so incredibly liberating when used in necessary moments. “So What.”
Cheers to your liberation! Mater, it’s okay. Jenn is among friends
Lori, if I keep that comforting thought in mind, then ‘showing the dirty laundry’ doesn’t seem all so intimidating. Thank you!
The box, obviously, will hold many surprises and moments of truth. I’m proud of Jenn.
Came late to this party for sure! I followed you to Single Mom and after so much “quiet” at BEAW, I didn’t stop in for a while. And NOW, it appears I missed the Box and the picture is back to normal too. Dang.
YES. Thank you for putting words to this. i need you, sometimes, i think. i need your contagious approach to vulnerability. Thank you for trusting the world with yourself.