My body is not me
I've been not well and it’s manifesting in my work.
Living with a chronic illness is pretty terrible. On the spectrum of people with Crohn’s disease my life is manageable, but also not normal. I’ve had five surgeries in the past ten years but major incidents aside, it’s me accepting a body that is not dependable. I have eternal stomach issues, joint pain in hands and spine, eye inflammation (a real chef’s kiss for a visual artist). My diet is a restricted version of the low FODMAP diet. (Look it up if you want to remove 10 percent of the joy from your life.) If I waver, it’s a shit show. I’m stuck driving a 1986 Ford Taurus of a body. I keep it in best condition I can, but its a beater and I know it.
A few years ago, on Christmas Eve, I needed an emergency surgery and the ER resident gave me an opioid injection which my body fully rejected and I went into anaphylactic shock. I remember getting light-headed and struggling for breath, and they managed to get a new IV in me before I left my body.
I floated above the scene; I could see my body and my wife beside it, could hear my sister-in-law screaming, “What did you give him?” It should have felt tense, but it was super peaceful up there. I watched things unfold for a little while and then I thought, OK, time to go back down, and I dropped back into myself. I came to breathing into a oxygen mask and struggling to take it off so I could tell Thea what had just happened. I was annoyed that they kept trying to put the mask on me; I really had to tell her about this.
It wasn’t necessary spiritual, and it didn’t make me a believer in any sense, but it did help me understand that my body is not me. The thing that carries “Matt” around is a vessel. I use it to make art and get my thoughts and ideas out in the world. I feed it vegetables and exercise it and make sure it gets enough sleep but it isn’t actually me. I’m not sure what is exactly, but I know it isn’t this thing typing words right now.
The best parts of my day are when I leave my body. When I am lost in work I am not really there. Designing a piece or assembling shapes allows me space for my body to not feel pain. I’m there physically but not really present.
I’ve read that there are two types of artists: those who see their work as a mirror and those who see it as a window. The mirror camp reflects themselves or the world in their work. The window team uses art to show something that doesn’t yet exist. I’ve always seen my work as a window. The I in my work is not important. Knowing me is not a prerequisite to know anything about my work. I’ve never seen it as a self-portrait, although part of me can feel that starting to change. Sometimes the pane in the window reflects back a view of the inside.
Best,
Matt
P.S. There are around 2500 of you reading this and half of you email or text me privately after I post . . . please consider leaving your comment below (make up an alias if you want). I think it helps with reach. <3
Your entry reminds me of this quote, a sentiment that lingers when I am engaged in my studio practice:
“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”
― Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Thanks for sharing. Life with chronic illness is tough. Experiencing a massive traumatic brain injury turned me on to what I do now. It's definitely a window.