Photos by The Style Crone
The Style Crone discovered this ceramic sculpture at an antique market about a month ago, and was immediately drawn to its power. She is now in my living room with her strength, pride and what I perceive as an open wound. She has no arms. I project upon her my feelings, for loss at times feels like an amputation. Not visible, but internal. The bleeding, the phantom pain, the unpredictable nature of healing. The learning curve ahead appears as high as a snow covered Colorado mountaintop; I have never sought to climb such a peak. The steep, stark, rocky path ahead unfolds before me as I begin the ascent, hoping that the tumultuous wind does not toss me into the rugged terrain below. Feeling vulnerable and exposed I step forward in unfamiliar territory. Somewhere within I have the realization and the hope that I will find my way in the wilderness of grief and slowly gain footing, even though I may lose my way or stumble, even tremble, along this unknown passage. For to move too fast with the healing of an amputation is likely to cause further injury. Doesn’t tissue heal one cell at a time?
I have no words of wisdom for the path you are on, but I knew immediately from the title of the post and the first photo why this spoke to you. Frida Kahlo’s art came to mind too as I studied the image…
This is a journey you would prefer not to make. I have followed you for long enough to know that you are full of wisdom and understand the need for this journey. Doesn’t make it any easier though, does it? Sigh. We are strong because we need to be but that doesn’t mean we don’t hurt and aren’t frightened. We feel sometimes like a little child. Just be kind to yourself and feel Nelson hugging you.
I lost a loved one to a tragic death in my early thirties. I was in denial for three years and then on a whim I signed up for a poetry workshop with a friend and the grief poured out of me. That is all I could write about for months. I cried all the way thru this and had to go on meds. I came out of this and within 6 months I met my husband. He was still grieving for his father whom he had lost 3 years before. Judith, what your are doing facing your journey head on is the smart and wise thing to do. Being in denial took me on a longer
painful journey in the end.
What a wonderful simil. You are so right. You have to take your time to heal. I wish I coul hug you, but I do it from afar.
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That sculpture is remarkable. It looks like she has armor, of some sort, but the wound has pierced her shield. She looks strong. And she is wearing a hat. I am so sorry you have to go through this. Thank you for sharing. One never knows when it might be my turn for such a loss. I agree with SizzleandZoom – in my experience, moving forward the way you are, is the most direct route to eventual healing. Isn’t art wonderful.
I am always amazed at the way you have of choosing the perfect words and phrases to describe your feelings. But why should I be? You always choose the perfect outfits and settings as well. I feel that you are an important teacher for me as well as my style icon!
You are in my thoughts as you navigate this painful passage.
What wonderful writing to describe such pain. You help the world so much through, tho painful at times, openly sharing word pictures and feelings. Remember that love brought you to this place, and will remain your constant companion.
What an amazing piece of sculpture. I wonder about the artist–what she was thinking and feeling when it was created. Did she know that it would be so inspirational to someone else and come to you at the time you needed it?
I think of you every day and hope that you are healing.
I understand how your loss feels like an amputation. I lost my husband of 29 years 3 years ago. In my grief, I actually said that I felt like parts of my body had been ripped off. It will get better eventually.
She does have power, and I’m glad you found her so she could be a part of your healing process. I especially like her in profile.
One of us will always be there to catch you should you stumble.
Beautiful sculpture and what wonderful writing. I hope both are cathartic for you–Paula
She is a perfect talisman to mark your journey. Your words are beautiful.
Sweet Judith, Finally took the time to catch up on my favorite blog and I must say SC has not only lovely taste in clothes but art as well. What a powerful, haunting piece. So much for the eye to experience/explore. Her bearing remains me of you. The strengh, intellegence and vunerbility. Thanks for sharing your gifts as well as your grief. Blessing to you and yours. Love, MO
She is both beautiful and arresting. Thinking of you as you begin your climb.
Love from Arabia.
M
At a loss for words, but glad this sculpture drew you to her and now shares space in your home, acknowledging the path you are on. Hoping that every part of you is now drawing to you what you most need, here on this daunting, unfamiliar and strange path, the path none of us ever want to walk down. Carry her strong image, and the love coming to you from all sides as you move forward, Judith. Know you are not alone and we are all here behind you, offering our support to buoy you up. With your wonderful blog and open-hearted writing, you drew this to you too! See how you are? Courage, courage.
Love,
Janine
Sending best wishes…
Amputation. Exactly right. Like learning to walk again without a leg, talk again without lips. Fortunately we still have both arms to reach out to others who offer us comfort.
Warmly,
Joan