I often find that as I photograph, my thoughts on what I am looking at begin to run away with me. The chairs are rich fodder for me. They have been with me for so long, always a step ahead. Beckoning, waiting to be collected in one form or another. They have a physicality that I have long been attracted to, and in their reference to rest or pause, they represent a facet of the human experience. And a personal experience that will forever color my refection upon them.
A chair is so formal, so structural, so intimate to the human form; a mimic of our need to rest. Rest, always I think rest first; but it is not only rest they represent, they are work and travel and interrogation; they are nourishment and confinement. It is the confinement of a seat that I have come to recognize more poignantly. A place to sit, a location that requires you to give over to it, to relinquish your strength unto it; to trust it will support you.
|Collection of the Art Institute of Chicago, personal photograph|
Little more than half-way through my pregnancy with my twins I was, upon the direction of my doctor, confined to sit. They call it modified bed rest, modified because you can move beyond your bed to a chair, a seat. You can walk, but not very much.
For ten weeks I sat. This was not restful. When I left the house, which was not very often, I was in a wheelchair. Never had I known walking was something I took for granted; and took for granted so deeply, I wasn’t even aware it was an ability I should appreciate. Never had I known how strenuous sitting can be.
For several months after the birth of my boys and my return to my feet, I took note of my upright movement. Walking was something of a novelty. I appreciated it. It had meaning. And sitting had new meaning too. It was not something taken for granted, but not really something cherished. It meant something beyond my control, something I had to heed. Sitting had become protection, my return to walking freedom. But I retained a fear of the potential in each. I have a distinct memory of walking through a parking lot by myself for the first time. It was in that moment that I learned of the power of appreciating my steps, in the impact my sitting had had.
Nearly three years later, that memory still vibrates through me whenever it comes to mind. Sitting and walking, they are now mutual parties to exhaustion and appreciation. Stark reminders that nothing is to be taken for granted.
Of course there is plenty I still take for granted, and movement more than stillness falls among them these busy days. But, among the things I do not take for granted is the ability to move back into the world with creative intention. A little bit of space and energy to move around in my creative mind, to accept its existence and appreciate its experience.
So I suppose I have found richness in the collision of my worlds.
The world of sitting in theory and reality; an object and its infinite variety and layers of meaning. And variety is one of the things that attracted me first to this form; large, small, comfortable, weathered, gorgeous and merely functional, spindly yet strong and oh so familiar, oh so necessary as friend and foe.