Alice Neel's depiction of old age is a bit unsettling; yet, as I approach 70, my mind reluctantly grasps this image. One of the books that I am reading is called,
Isadora.
The complete insanity of the events following the drowning death of her two children in the Seine, and her efforts to move herself beyond that tragic day, seem much like Neel's painting. Neel suffered a nervous breakdown, too!
Isadora, as fictionalized by Amelia Gray, eats tiny bits of the children's' ashes. It seems as though this is the only way she will force herself to continue to live.
Ashes from our past seem to attach themselves to us and cause the flesh to fold around our bodies as in Alice's self portrait. The moments, all 2,174,083,200 of them, seem enormous! It would take me another 68 plus years just to count this out loud!
Yet, I get up and try to unwrap the chocolate bar which refuses to yield to my arthritic hands. The muscles which I prided myself with sustaining, now seem to relax and melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz.
How does one balance these images and lessons?
Gravity + 50 Years (10,000) 2 (sets of Breast) 2 (sets of
testicles) = a sonic boom
“Who rules? Class.”
“Mother Nature rules, teacher.”
Synapses widening
Connect-ors e-LONG-
gating
Almost dis-connected, but
Not quite.
You tug at your parts, “Remember when….”
What was I thinking about?
Where are my glasses?
Why did I open the refrigerator?
Oh, to find spare parts..
They’re in here somewhere…
August, 2009
A Frequent Flyer at the Botox Bar
Wandering around and sampling;
A little restalin here,
A chemical peel there.
It’s a non-self-service costly bar,
Where the selections expand to meet your greed.
“Do I want to continue this merry-go-round?”
OR “Do I dare to get off?”
“What will I look like without the extra helpings?”
“Will my chin slide down my neck?”
“Will my eye lids obstruct my vision?”
“Where have I learned to be so vain?”
At the Drug stores as a child hanging around
The Magazine rack:
Glamour, Vogue, Teen Miss,
All telling me the Secrets to Beauty and success;
None foretold the cost and the discomfort.
The annoyance of our own skin
From head to toe we run from the mirror of age
Rather than embracing out skin and beholding ourselves as
Goddess
We return to the Botox Bar and attempt to refill our plate
Always walking away hungry and emptier.
November 13, 2010
Waking up after a chemical peel
