Aug 9- Prompt4

Mood Essay- Evoke a mood

I swipe at a bead of sweat crawling down the back of my neck quickly and abruptly, trying to catch it before it disappears down my back where I cannot reach it, as a fly lands in the exact same spot on my ankle for the 90th time. I kick, but the fly only buzzes in the air momentarily before settling back down on my knee. I flap my hand at it and it's wings vibrate in a shrill buzz as it takes to the air again. A moment of peace, I think as I irritatedly scratch my cheek. The baby shifts and I feel like I'm going to pee myself, but keeps moving so it's little body is shoved in some inside crevice, making my tight belly feel even tighter, pain shooting through my ribs. I pause my knitting, losing count on stitches as I press on my stomach, hoping to force the baby into some position that isn't causing my nerves to be on fire. But there's too much baby and not enough womb. I pick up my phone and look at it, checking the weather. 91 outside and it feels almost as hot in here. I think about going into the kitchen to grab water, a popsicle, anything... but it's so far away and I'm so very swollen and pregnant.

I pick up my knitting again, recounting the stitches I've already done, flapping my elbow absent mindedly as the fly lands on it. My dog looks at me and whines. No... don't do this to me... don't want anything. Don't make me get up to take care of you. Just be content laying on the floor. I say out loud, "What? What do you want?" I sound calmer than I feel. But because I'm talking to the big one, the little one thinks she's not getting enough attention and a curly-haired little body tries to crawl into my lap, nosing past my knitting making me drop a stitch and a slimy nose presses into my arm. I snap, "No! Off!" and the fly lands on my face. I smack at it, but I only hit myself, feeling the stickiness of my own sweat. I put down my knitting again and use my shirt to dry my face a little, scratching at an itch on my ear vigorously. The big dog whines again. I pick up my knitting and try to fix the damage, hurrying to try to finish this one row.

The fly lands on my shin. I want to cry. Or scream. Or hurt someone. I flail my legs, the fly buzzes off. The big dog gets up and does a huffy little bark at me and then walks in a little circle. I try to go faster with my knitting needles, but when I try to hurry, it feels so much slower. Halfway there. The baby moves a tiny bit, now I'm in pain and I feel an immense pressure on my bladder. I sigh and set my knitting down, row half-finished, and stand. It's hard to stand completely upright, I have been sitting for so long. The ligaments in my pelvis are tight and stretching them is difficult. The fly circles my ear and I lift one shoulder and rub my head against it. I shove at my belly with my hands and look at the dogs.

"You guys wanna go out?" I ask. The big one barks and bows excitedly, then bounds towards the back door. The little one looks at me from the couch, begging to be asked with her sad eyes. "Come on, stupid." I say impatiently. She jumps up and follows me into the kitchen. The tile is cool against my feet, but I am dreading opening the back door. As I pull it open, a cat meows at me and wanders inside lazily. The dogs seem to bounce in anticipation, waiting for the cat to get out of their way. The baby is sitting directly on my bladder, but I can't leave the dogs unattended in the backyard. It's not fenced in and they'll take off. I consider putting the big one on his leash, but maybe he'll be quick. It's so hot. The heat is bouncing off of everything, sweat is rolling in all sorts of bodily crevices. I look down at my little dog who is just standing in front of me, staring adoringly at me. "Go potty!" I tell her, throwing my hand in the direction of the grass. She looks at the grass then back up at me and just wags her tail. The big dog is running around, eating grass, not bothering to pee... just exploring smells.

The sun is beating down on us. I scratch under my boob where a trickle of sweat is irritating my skin. It's humid too. It's already hard to breath with the baby crushing my lungs, and being out in the heat... it's like trying to breath through a warm wet washcloth. The little dog is still standing by me looking at me as if she expects me to go squat in the yard next to her and alleviate to this tension growing in my lower stomach. "Go!" I shout, and she does a little bounce away from me, but keeps glancing at me until I purposely stop looking at her. I pretend like I'm interested in my garden, knowing she'll remember why she's out there if I don't pay any attention to her. An ant crawls over my barefoot and I swipe it off with my other one, leaving a brown dusty smear across the top.

The dogs hear a noise and start barking, then the little one darts into the front yard, quickly followed by the big one. I shout "NO! Bad dogs! Come back!" As I chase after them. I hold onto my stomach and pay close attention to where I put my feet, praying I don't step on a dog turd or a thistle. The little one comes bounding back to me, thrilled to always be close, but the big one is already out of the yard and in the neighbor's driveway, chasing their boxer around a small blond girl. Great. I'm not wearing a bra. Please don't talk to me. Oh I have to pee so bad. I shove my belly again, hoping to shift the baby. I should have peed before I took the dogs out. All of a sudden, a sharp pain stabs into my foot. I call to the big dog again, demanding he get back to me, but he only runs a little further away, following the boxer and his little girl down the street. I bend and investigate, finding some kind of tree dropping lodged in my foot. I pull it out. I'm fuming. I don't want to be out here, doing this.

"Ned you get back here RIGHT NOW." He looks at me, but I know I'm going to have to go all the way to him to get him back. "Gizzy, stay!" I shout as I carefully hop off the retaining wall of my front yard. She happily jumps down next to me, toenails clicking on the sidewalk as she follows me towards her brother. I stumble a little, the sidewalk is hot, and I'm positive I'm going to pee myself before I can get to Ned and get back to the house. I'm in luck, because the little girl and her boxer are walking back into her lawn, my big dog dancing happily around her, barking and trying to get the boxer to play with him. I call him again, and this time he runs towards me, caught up in his excitement, but is quickly distracted by the neighbor's dog again. I wipe sweat off my chin and waddle towards him, just barely managing to catch him by his collar as he tries to dart by me. The little dog runs at the boxer with a menacing snarl and I quickly shout, "GIZ! NO!" And she immediately darts back to me. I smile at the neighbor girl and say, "Sorry." But quickly turn, sure my boob is about to pop out the top of my shirt from my half-bent position, clinging to Ned's collar.

"Gizzy come." I turn back towards the house, but I realize my pregnant body will NOT be able to hoist itself up over the retaining wall, I have to walk all the way around to the steps. I grimace, pulling Ned too hard by his collar, his tail already between his legs because he knows he's been naughty. I snap at him, "You're a bad dog. You need to listen when I call you." His sad eyes only make me more angry. I waddle the 30 yards of hot sidewalk, carefully avoiding any suspicious looking spots for my poor barefeet, sweat crawls down my lower back into my pants, praying that the need to pee ebbs enough to get up the 14 steps into my house, but I remember the front door is locked. Ned is pulling too much, I can't waddle up the steps bent over, needing to pee, so I let go and say, "Go to the backyard! Go! Go home!" And I'm so relieved when he does. Gizmo close behind him. I carefully try to navigate the front yard, but whatever the tree drops that are so stabby are numerous and hard to avoid, and I end up impaling myself three more times before I make it to the back patio.

 The dogs are happily waiting by the back door. I want to scream at them... beat them... but I manage to keep my cool and open the door, letting them rush inside and straight to their water bowl, lapping it happily, and before I can get inside and close the door, the cat darts out again. I choose not to be annoyed by this, and hurry into the bathroom, yanking my pants down before I'm even in the room, and sit down, sweaty buttocks sliding unpleasantly against the cool seat. Out comes a very pathetic little stream of pee that peters out way too quickly for the drama I felt building inside me. But I feel better. I feel calmer. I sit in the cool bathroom, letting the smooth tile sooth my sore feet, forcing myself to breath. I reach over to a towel hanging near me and rub it against my face. That's nice. That's better. I feel a little more human. The door, which I didn't close all the way, swings open by the push of a little curly-haired dog nose and I see my ever present companion standing there, wagging her tail.

I let myself smile. I wipe, stand up, and flush the toilet, remembering to jiggle it so it doesn't run for the rest of the afternoon. I go into the living room and sit down on the couch, picking up my knitting. It looks good. I can't even tell I dropped any stitches, I did a good job picking them back up. I continue down the row...

As the fly lands on my ankle for the 91st time.

Aug 9- Prompt 2 Art Feelings

Find Art, Write How It Makes You Feel


This is one photograph in a series by Jenny Saville and Glen Luchford called Closed Contact. Jenny is a painter and the model for all the photographs that challenge society's standard of beauty. Glen is the photographer with a history in fashion. All of the photographs have been transferred onto plexiglass... so these photos of flesh pressed against glass actually have an element of realism about them when you see them in person.

It's hard to know where to begin in my feelings when I look at this because it all hits me at once. There is an element of love, the hands pressing into the folds of flesh, embracing the rounds and hallows, the intimacy of the hand on the breast, to be so comfortable with yourself that you can hold yourself... and an element of hatred, the lower hand gripping a roll, the flesh smashed in such a way against the glass that you can't quite tell what you're looking at, the aggressive angle of the nipple (such a delicate and sensitive part of the body), that implies a reckless disregard or even loathing of ones own body. The vulnerability of naked flesh, exposed and yet partially covered by embarressed hands, or hands that may actually be framing it... inviting you to look. The challenge of "Mine", holding onto itself, fighting against your judgement... and yet the exposure, inviting you to look, make your own assessment. And then with the lighting, it's warm, pink, soft. Real. But it's almost like looking at a specimen in a jar, one part of a whole you'll never see or understand. It's almost gruesome in its vulnerability... And yet strangely beautiful.

The hands are almost masculine, and even though I know they are her own hands, I could imagine them being a man's hands both embracing her and punishing her. A sort of commentary on the desire to be desired and never quite measuring up... My own insecurities fighting with a man's attraction.

If you look at it for long enough, you begin to distance yourself from it... it stops looking real. This is not an image we see in the media. This is not something you even see from your friends. This is only something you see when you are naked in your own room, loving or hating the way you look. No one exposes themselves like this... and therefore its foreign. Can you let yourself embrace something that hasn't been normalized? Can you let yourself find beauty in it when deep down you can't even look at your own body like this?

I love it. I truly love this. I want it hanging in my living room... but I have to ask myself... if this were me, would I see it the same way? Would I love it as much? Would I want to hang this photo on the wall if I knew that body was my body? Could I expose myself and my vulnerabilities and hang it like art on the wall for everyone to see?

Love myself, hate myself, embrace my curves, curse them. Want to change. Want to stay the same. Want love. Want desire. Want to be enough... Feeling impossibly feminine and totally foreign. Is this my body or is it the body I am trapped inside of?

Truly moving work.

If you would like to see the rest, here is a link to the gallery's web page.
https://www.gagosian.com/exhibitions/january-12-2002--jenny-saville--glen-luchford/exhibition-images