pixi.bits

personal symbols

I can't remember how it started, but for roughly fifteen years I've thought of red as my lucky color. Whenever I spot a certain red object, I take it as a "sign" of good things to come. Some of my lucky red objects include:

lady bugs
red birds (esp. cardinals)
red volkswagen beetles (the old kind, a convertible is doubly good)
red karmann ghias (a convertible is super double plus good)

Sort of silly, I know. But the thing is, I don't literally believe these things foretell a specific event. To me, they aren't signs of a superstitious nature. Rather they are reminders that good things do and will happen. The infrequence of the sightings is part of what gives them special meaning. That's why red flowers aren't on my list. I see them all the time. It takes a bit of serendipity to give me a little lift. Typically after spotting a cardinal, I think to myself, "Boy, I needed a cardinal today."

I haven't shared this with many people. For certain, it's been a long while since I've mentioned it to anyone. A good long while. Well, on Dec. 22nd, I received a small package from my friend, L. (formerly known as friend #2) that just about knocked me over. Inside was small red plastic ornament made with dyed-feathers and wire legs that were somewhat smooshed inside a cellophane wrapper. It was an ugly little thing, really, but the sentiment was beautiful and clear. With all that L and I have been through in the past several months - so much hurt, so much anger, so much awkwardness about being at opposite ends of the fertility spectrum - she found a way to let me know that she wishes good things for me. I don't know how she found it, but let me tell you, I needed a cardinal that day. That cardinal was a long time in coming.

When it comes time to take down the tree, I won't pack away my special ornament. I'll hang it in the kitchen so it can it can continue to hint at good things to come - hopefully in 2006.

Also, I drew <---this cardinal and placed it here as a way of saying that I wish good things for you all. I really do.  And I'd love to know about the personal symbols that any of you might have. Surely I'm not the only one?

"about" image #3: untitled (train) by kiki smith

Time for a change. I've grown tired of looking at the Venus of Willendorf day after day. I'm glad to be moving on - though I did love your comments about her & the concept of Venus.

So, this latest "about" image is by Kiki Smith, a contemporary artist who lives and works in NYC. Much of her work focuses on the body, often highlighting the things many of us try so hard to hide, such as bodily functions and the effects of aging.

I've chosen to show just a portion of her sculpture, Untitled (train), on the main page of my blog. (Read this entire paragraph before you click the links with the expanded views.) The full sculpture is a figure of a woman rendered in white wax. She is slightly bent over, and several strands of dark red beads hang between her legs then spill out over the floor. As far as I know, the beads were meant to represent menstruation not miscarriage, but visually the effect is similar. And the impact can be strong either way, so I decided to give you the option of not viewing it.

I've liked Kiki Smith's work, ever since I discovered it in the early 90's. But after years of reproductive problems, I find myself connecting to it on a new level. My life is so much about my body - its parts, its products, its functions. And while the theme of this piece might not be an uplifting one, I tend to find comfort in art that speaks to my pain.

So, I leave you with a quote from Kiki. And as always, I'm curious to know what you think.

"Our bodies have been broken apart bit by bit and need a lot of healing. Our whole society is very fragmented. Everything is split, and presented in dichotomies--male/female, body/mind--and those splits need mending."

---Kiki Smith

38

Today is my birthday. Any guesses what I'm wishing for?

Here's a sketch from a journal I was keeping in 1999. Of course, back then, I couldn't imagine what the pursuit of my dream would entail. I guess most of us here could say the same.

And today (as in this day), I'm doing reasonably OK - not focusing too much on "38" and what that means.

my innerpsychegram

After my second miscarriage, I spent many days lost in thought. Questioning my next steps. Googling for information. Trying to make sense of what happened.

One day, I began doodling a line that followed the ups and downs of my pursuit of parenthood - starting with the eager anticipation of my first HPT, then tracing the arrival of unwanted periods, the first double lines, spotting, bleeding, heartbeats on ultrasounds, cramping, miscarrying, learning of my sister's pregnancy a week later, trying again, starting to hope again, double lines again, more bleeding, no bleeding for a month, watching on a monitor as my daughter brushed her cheek...

Sometime later, I scanned the sketch and started messing with it in an image editing program. I wondered if I'd be able to convey the depths of the troughs and the stretches of despair via an image on a screen. And while I didn't particularly well, it was still an interesting way for me to reflect on all that I'd been through and endured.

There are high points and low points in everyone's life. But I believe people with reproductive challenges exist in a prolonged state of dramatic swings. And while we have lots of pictures taken of our insides, there's no instrument to capture the condition of our souls.

Have you, then, ever thought of a way to visually represent your experiences? Perhaps you've thought of using a line, like me, but maybe it would have a different look? Or maybe you'd go with a different type of image all together?

And about the name of my digital painting (innerpsychegram) - it's the best I've come up with so far, a working title of sorts. It's playing off of all the "grams" that we have taken throughout the various stages of treatment. Any other ideas for that?

I created the image over a month ago. There have been additional spikes in the line since then. But as I sit and type this, I'm not sure where my current plot point is. It's vibrating...not yet ready to be fixed on a certain spot.

fertility fetish

"About" Image #2: The Venus of Willendorf (also referred to as The Woman of Willendorf)

Well, if we're going to be looking at images of women/fertility in art, we might as well go all the way back to the beginning. This 20,000ish year old "venus" figure (now a dated term) is one of several from the Paleolithic era, but she is certainly the most famous. She is named for the region of Austria in which she was found.

She is a tiny old girl - at approx. four inches, she could fit comfortably in the palm your hand. The purpose of the sculpture is not entirely certain, but with its womanly (to say the least) proportions, it has been suggested that she is a symbol of fertility. When you consider the parts of the figure that are emphasized (breasts, hips, abdomen, girly bits) and those that aren't (face, arms), it's pretty easy to see why some have drawn that conclusion.

I know that we are absolutely NOT a baby dust crowd here, but I do notice, occasionally, people figuratively pulling out amulets and making appeals for our friends' successful treatments, tests, pregnancies, etc. So that's got me thinking. What would a modern day "venus" look like, anyway? Particularly for this crowd? What would be her most important features? And would she have any attributes, such as Zeus' lightning bolt or Poseidon's trident?

Can't wait to hear your ideas. I'm planning to have a little fun (yeah, I remember how to do that, I think) and make up a little statuette based on your input. Hey, it's something to do while I'm waiting. So, there you go. Have at it, if you will!

about my "about" image

It's not mine.

The artwork, that is. It's a detail of <--this painting, La Source (The Source or The Spring) by the French neoclassical painter Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (last name pronounced sort of like "anger" with the "ger" trailing off). I've been meaning to credit "the source," but I'm just getting around to it now.

I've mentioned in an earlier post that I'm an artist, and that I'll be using this blog to share some of my work, especially those pieces that relate to fertility issues. I'm also an art lover, however, and I'm finding it interesting to go back and explore how the image of "woman" has been handled throughout art history. I'm thinking that I'll pick out the ones that interest me most and update my About pic with them periodically.

I'm actually not a big fan of Ingres. I find much of his work to be distorted, fussy, and rather tra-la-la-la-blech. Lots of bathers and nudes lounging around on velvet and satin and feathers and stuff. But I've always been sort of captivated by La Source. And now she seems to do a nice job of hinting at what's in my blog. You might have noticed, however, that my About image looks a bit different from the original painting. I edited the graphic in Photoshop to heighten the shadows and intensify her direct stare.

My runner-up choice was <--this painting, L'Origine du Monde (1866), by the French painter, Gustave Courbet. I decided, however, to go with Ingres' more subtle work. Besides, I wouldn't want to risk people thinking the picture is a representation of my "area." It's a rather memorable image, though, don't ya think? If you'd ever like to see L'Origine or La Source in real life, they're both in the Musee d'Orsay in Paris.

Anyway, I've found some other great works of art that I'm excited to share. I'll post a new one at the start of each month.

this is not a baby

I have been pregnant for a total of 233 days. I do not have a baby. I do not have one on the way. But now I look like I do. And it's a constant reminder of what I want so much and don't have.

I've never been a skinny girl (to borrow and modify a line from Ani DiFranco), and I've always been a bit of a yo-yoer. But in the old days, even at my heaviest, I didn't look pregnant. Hips, butt, thighs - those were always problem areas, but my abdomen was almost a source of pride. Now it taunts me. I don't think pregnancy alone changed the SIZE of my body. I contributed to much of that with my post-miscarriage "I don't give a shit" eating. But I do think the pregnancies had something to do with this new SHAPE.

I took this photo by aiming in the general direction of my stomach and snapping the shot. I figured I might have to try a few times to get it lined up correctly - but no, my belly filled in the entire frame on the first try.

In looking in at the abstract elements of the image, I can see a certain beauty in the curving form, the sweeping lines. But when I'm trying to button my work pants, I just look down with sadness and loathing.

Today is Sunday - the day that I normally vow to start afresh with healthy eating and a healthy frame of mind. So far I've made no progress on either of those fronts. I'm hoping that this Sunday could be the start of a turnaround - that maybe writing it here will help me stick with it. Let's hope so.

a hiatus from TTC, or trying and failing at other things

At my follow-up appointment for miscarriage #2, my OB told me that they had detected some irregularity in my uterus while they were doing the D & E, possibly a septum or a fibroid. She said she'd like me to have an HSG done to check it out. Once they got the information from that, they could decide to what steps to take from there.

I was supposed to schedule the HSG for a certain week after my period returned. My period came back in December, but I didn't make the call. I think I skipped the next month, too. While the things they were looking for were potentially quite fixable, I just didn't feel like facing any more problems in that area. Fixable or otherwise. I just wasn't up for it.

Also with both pregnancies I had put on 10+ pounds (and was already a bit heavy at the start), and I managed to hang on to the weight. I was feeling fat and defective and generally miserable. I couldn't take it anymore, so I decided to seek radical change and go after a life-long dream.

I have a degree in fine art, and have managed to do art-related work for most of my career. I had always hoped, though, to one day go back to school for my Master of Fine Arts and become a professional artist/art professor. I had put the dream aside temporarily when babymaking became my primary focus.

Well, since that wasn't going well, and I really wasn't ready to get back into trying again, I decided that I would apply  for my MFA. I made this decision in mid November. Applications were due in mid January, but I figured I could do it--make the art, write personal statement, take the slides, get the recommendations--all of it in two months. And I did.

On the last weekend of February, my husband and I went to NYC to visit his brother and to see The Gates. I know folks out there have differing opinions on this exhibit, but my feeling is that whether it was good, bad, or ugly (and I saw all of these things at different times), it was a transformation of a space and an interesting experience. On Saturday we also went to the MOMA and I saw art that I had been looking at in books and online photos for years and years. I felt like it was the kick-off to my new art-immersed life.

The first rejection letter was waiting in my foyer when we got home from NY that night. I would have the remaining three by the end of March. Even the school that I really thought would come through--the one I have an M.Ed. from with a 3.8 average--didn't. Rejections across the board. I was incredibly disappointed, but even more so I was mortified. I have always identified so strongly with being an artist, and I felt that I was being told that I didn't cut it. I swore my husband to secrecy and didn't tell any one for about a month.

Looking back, I know that it was entirely unrealistic for me to try to pull something together in two months. MFA programs take a very limited number of applicants. Without an exhibition history and a highly developed body of work, it wasn't gonna happen. But I couldn't see that then. I was just grasping for something to pull me out of my miscarriage misery.

Some rather dark days followed. I became increasingly bitter and resentful. I hated being around mothers and pregnant people. I hated being around sucessful people. I hated being around thin people. I just wanted to stay home in my pajamas.

Still there were times that I tried to pull myself out of it and make positive changes.

I applied for two jobs.

I never heard back.

I went on a diet.

By June I was five pounds more than my highest pregnancy weight.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, I did go in for that HSG. Found out my tubes were clear (wasn't really a concern since I'd been pregnant 2x in the past year) and that "there's a shadow in the upper right of your uterus that might be a septum or a fibroid." Didn't we know that already???? Isn't that why I had to endure that crappy procedure to begin with???? Ugh. So they sent me for a 3-D ultrasound to figure it out. An ultrasound. Couldn't we have just skipped right to that?

Well, they determined that the shadow is from a fibroid on the top of my uterus. It does not interfere with the cavity, so it's not a source of concern. That was a huge relief. No procedure. No future complications. At least not from that.

By June, it had been seven months since my second miscarriage. For those months, I had put babymaking out of my mind. I was mired in too much shit to even consider it. Then for some reason, the old inklings came back. Almost like *that*, once again, I was all about becoming a mom.

Anyway, here's a piece from my portfolio. I do believe that there was some OK stuff there.

next: miscarriage #3