Life Crudité: Writing Raw in a Polished World
When Life Feels Like an Anish Kapoor Exhibit: Cuddling the Sinewy, Unfiltered Truths in Writing and Motherhood
I write because I must. But my brain is struggling to be cute and smart. Maybe it’s for the best. Raw, unfiltered things are needed in this artificial, hyper-coiffed digital world.
I just had a mental flash visual of an Anish Kapoor exhibit I saw in the Netherlands at the Rijksmuseum nearly a decade ago.
Turning into the main gallery, I expected to see famed Vermeer and Rembrandt, but instead, I was visually assaulted by giant canvases that appeared to be covered in raw meat.
After 15 hours of travel and no sleep, the sight of walls covered in feigned sinew and visards made me heave. I could smell the meat, even though bulging works were only reformed art supplies. I had to leave the exhibit.
I guess the point of this is: I could throw my word carcasses up on a wall for y’all. I don’t even need to make them cute or clever, or overthink it too much. But oh how badly I want to charm the pants off you.
If I throw the raw meat of my life up for you all to ogle at and consider, it might make bile creep up your esophagus, but at least maybe you’ll remember my work some winter’s eve 8 years later.
If I were to throw proverbial uncooked beef loin up on a canvas this night, I’d tell you that I’m questioning what it means to have a self in a body after starting Devon Price’s book “Unmasking Autism”.
On a less existential note, my baby and I both have colds; breastfeeding a snot faucet is a disturbing sensory experience. I also feel like I am co-sleeping with a pug instead of a boy.
So what you can expect from me and my writing? Meat canvases, but with words. Rawness you expect to drip and smell but it’s just odorless characters on a two-dimensional digital page.
My baby is threatening to wake up, so I leave you here.
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