so beautiful that it’s awful
stephanie knipe
I have a desire to be understood. Over long text threads with Emily, we decide what that means. Perhaps it is simple. I love this sheer garment because It makes me feel like a floating head, Or, A skeletal being with my parts all exposed, Or, I am nothing. I am light. To be understood would be “I love this sheer garment because I feel like light” A nodding head with eyes closed slightly, “Oh, yes” The very understated but loudly reaching empathetic gestures extend to my core Where a head nod is not just a movement, But an, “I believe you.”
While watching Grey’s Anatomy yesterday, I stopped and reflected upon a scene between Cristina Yang and her ex-fiance, Preston Burke. They are seeing each other for the first time, 7 years after he left her at the altar. He is offering her a job at his hospital in Zurich. He lays everything out on the table. Life changing research, technological advancement exclusive to his hospital, opportunities that just don’t exist elsewhere. Cristina is tempted. Of course she is. But she stands stationary in his office, cocks her head, and exclaims that He does not know her anymore. She did not just love him, she did not just work for him, she wanted to be him. How could she work for him again? He cut away pieces of her. He cut away pieces of her. He does not know her anymore. It is one of my favorite scenes of the very long, and still kicking, series. The women of Grey’s are potentially known for their long declarations of feeling. The semi-monologues that twist and turn and protest and project. They are often directed at or towards men who stand there motionless and silent. In this scene, Burke interrupts. He states, impatiently and starkly, “Are you done?” My fist clenched. She replies, with the weight of her breathe, “No.” And then she is silent. Breathing. Breathing. Her shoulders release. “Now I am.” I could not and cannot stop thinking about this moment. Cristina’s release is so vivid and powerful. He does not own her anymore. He cannot cut away at her anymore. He cannot cut her off anymore. He cannot, he cannot. She demands what she demands. Her own moment. Her own release. Her own silence. You do not know me anymore.
Today I called my therapist to cancel because I was sick. Really, I just wanted to stay in bed and watch television. I felt accomplished in a way, I had completed a ritual I have been Celebrating for as long as I can remember, Cancelling with a lie.
Canal The other day I had a dream about a dental procedure. It was articulate and vivid. The crown of my tooth was removed and replaced with a long mold the size of my jaw. The dream was shot from a bird’s eye view, all my teeth in a row like skyscrapers. The unknown hand adjusted and wiggled the mold around my mouth furiously. And then that was it. I read once as a teen that dreams about your teeth falling out mean that you are afraid of dying. If it was only the top half of my tooth that fell, does that mean I am on the cusp of fear? This summer I had a root canal, a crown lengthening, and then a crown replacement done over the span of a month. I have internalized this to have happened because I don’t take care of myself very well. I had to pay the price of neglect. This has begun my now ever growing paranoia about my teeth. And then my body. And then my will. And then myself. Once I fantasized that my teeth were all made of metal so I did not have to worry about cavities or my teeth falling out and what that meant when I worried about that. I was reminded that, although less fragile than bone, everything requires care.
Veil In the store I run my hands across old fabric like touching a loved one I have not known for very long Sheer organza slips over my arm like brushed knees and grazed hands with a crush Innocence coded lightly with desire, A “come over� text on saturday afternoon A thinly veiled fear, exposed Transparent textile renders me something else While still being seen as originally meant. Hands that feel transformative yet Something I read about in a book once.
Often i find myself screaming inwardly. How do i live here, I should take better care of the skin that holds it all, I should allow myself to scream.
I am an artist because I am scattered. My things follow me like a trail throughout the house So that you can find me and have me for dinner
All images from Gucci 2017 Spring collection
http://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/spring-2017-ready-to-w ear/gucci Zine title adapted from a quotation from my 5 year old student, Tavin.