Digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm. 2019
These drawings from The Trembling are the first stage of the project, where I address my spine in the aftermath of a diagnosis for a rare spinal tumour. The project starts with the shock and trembling that comes with sudden death or illness and will examine the intricate puzzle of human fragility, and knowledge which comes from profound experience of vulnerability.
Beginning in calamity the project takes as its starting point a shocked trembling provoked by sudden death or illness - but it stubbornly moves outwards, slyly ironic and resourceful, to reach towards a metaphysical dignity.
The elements from The Trembling are intended to be shown independently but take the form of interlocking, intersecting chapters. Considered together each chapter forms a complex depiction of vulnerability, identified here as a prolonged trembling that can also be seen as a form of strength. Here, vulnerability is invoked to author a semi-fictional world affected by a trenchant mourning in the service of an elaborate defense of the self.
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
With open-eyed seriousness, I tell the two Doctors sitting with me that I am a baboon. Pause. And that I had a glass ball at the centre of my body with something very toxic inside. If I fall and break the glass ball, it will kill me. “We don’t think you’re a baboon, Anne-Marie!” which is spoken with an equal seriousness that I’ll always love him for. Pause. Narrowing his eyes, looking straight at me, “but I couldn’t live myself if you fell. So yes”, smiling very slightly, “you’re staying here”.
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Written on ward 4. June 2018. Victoria.
60’s. Major surgery since an accident many years ago. Complex spinal surgery, complicated by her fragility, she told me. We share the same surgeon. Determined. Has had over 3 major surgeries in the last few months. The people in Ward 4 are in pain. Sits out beside her bed, with her red hair falling on her shoulders and puts on a nice coral lipstick. Is walking with a frame now. She has a curious, ethereal quality. She is thin. I’ve lost so much weight, you see, Anne-Marie. Anne-Marie, that's such a nice name. I love your dressing gown. The smile is gentle, warm and often her gestures are very slightly out of sync with her speaking, giving a sense she is not quite physically present. She seems to be fading in front of me, half cloud. She smiles and has good use of her hands and gestures openly to me as I pass her by. She would wave in recognition at me and smile as I passed by her room long before we spoke. Its amazing how you endure Anne-Marie. Humans can! Questions are direct in this ward immediately. No one has time for small talk. Do you have children? Yes, perhaps it’s good you didn’t, with your situation, it would have been difficult to handle all that with young children. And your husband, he is a good support. It’s so difficult on them. Thats great. Wonderful, you have a good man. It might be your are a very rare textbook case. I agree, what are the odds? We hope for the best for you, Anne-Marie. We really do.
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
In hospital I would send myself to a imaginary forest to cope with tests, especially ones where I had to keep very very still. I would chant, over and over, His eyes. Holding me. In the forrest. Under the moon". With thanks for Henri Rousseau. I became his snake charmer.
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Ward 4. June 2018.
Sally
My bird of paradise. Scottish, I think. I only know her through her magnificent silhouette as she passes by the end of my bed. She's also with my surgeon, Sally, who is one of the few who can walk here but does so wearing a large, angular neck brace that extends from her shoulders up to her cheeks. It locks her neck so her chin points at a dramatic angle to the ceiling, the end of the brace a kind of peak. Sally wears a long skirt and has red-purple hair and a blue patterned top. She somehow manages never to bump into anything as she walks, though she surely can't see around her. So, the fact that she glides makes her gloriously mysterious; brow furrowed like an angry plummaged bird, she focuses fiercely as she uses her fingertips to see with, brushing the blue hospital curtains, which flutter sulkily around her as she powers through the hospital ward. Sally and Victoria seem to be talking. If I'm here longer, I would like to try to speak with Sally. - She just walked past me again, and I swear the brace was at a lower angle. Slowly, the bird is changing back into a human.
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019
Drawing.
digital drawing, 29.7 x 42.0cm
2019