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BOXES beyond borders

Tag: Pain

War Box

Since time began, mothers have nurtured, loved, taught, protected, cherished and raised their babies, then watched them grow to be killed in war or by war. This inevitable cycle will repeat itself for untold generations unless our mothers’ universal plea to Stop The Killing results in WAR NO MORE!

The Mummified Stone Heart

The central focus is a very special stone heart found on the Pacific coast at the equator. It has an uncommon green color. a heart with many scars. Once it was split, but love was able to hold it together and unify what had been separated.

Sorrow leaves wounds; joy brings peace.
This heart has found its peace.
Its wounds have healed.
The purpose of life was fulfilled; the eternal cycle of birth to life and death to a new life.
This heart has been embalmed; first if has been cleaned from all perishables.
The nucleus remained, one with the nature.
For women all over the world and over all times it might be a symbol for love;
isn’t the woman love’s keeper?
Love is immortal.
Faith and hope in the victory of love might be the symbol of humankind in the next millennium.

NOTE: This embalmed heart has been wrapped with golden ribbons, placed on a plate of slate from the Andes, and bedded in a stone sarcophagus.  The feather of a white swan symbolizes the purity of the heart.  As grave goods, there are two sealed papyrus rolls perpetuating the heart’s qualities. This project contains symbols from four different continents (America, Asia, Europe, Africa).

Cancer

In the past
people asked me
sometimes
what is your sign
and I said
cancer
because I was born
on the 6th of July.

Now I got the disease
or the disease got me
and I hate
this word:
cancer.

I lost my hair
I lost my breast
and I may lose
my life-
who knows-to
cancer.

But I am not alone
185,000 women a year
are getting it and
we are all asking why
cancer

Why all the poison
in our food, our water,
our air, what did we
do to nature, where
is the F.D.A.? It is not
only tobacco which is
killing us.  How can we
fight the enemy
cancer?

 

Gaia

I put earth into Pandora’s box, enclosing meaninglessness within. The box, decorated with various symbols and colors signify the contents. The edges and corners are softened.

The enclosure of earth becomes an oxymoron. A small portion inside stands for the universal. The box is a prayer to the larger form from which it was taken.

The pins refer to the sensitivity of a living body that will feel pain by being injured, but will also start to blossom. The GROUND/ SOIL/ EARTH as READY MADE, an allegory of GAIA (earth), the UNIVERSAL MOTHER AND LAST HOPE.

One Thousand Years of Sewing into the Night

My grandmother’s sewing box, a gift from her mother, handed down to me by my mother, is my inspiration for Women beyond borders. I have made a tiny sarcophagus of pins, cotton and frayed red velvet – to symbolize thousands of droplets of blood from pin-pricked fingers – all embedded in the wax of candles burned into the night, lighting women’s often unappreciated work of skill, toil and pleasure.

 

Missing Piece

To me, a basic unchanging form is the most beautiful, no matter what period of art you are examining. For any material or event there exists a basic framework. Within this basic frame, there exists a core which comes through the work of art above all else.

I use many materials, but I especially like to use materials with soul in them. I then strive to create a work in which the essence of the materials shows through. I would like to create artwork with a central form of happiness, pain, or sadness.

Voice Box

Voice Box is a reminder of the fertile, nurturing potential of women’s words and the pain that women endure in trying to speak those messages. It contains powdered milk and an egg licked by tongues of flame and so marked with soot.

materials: wood, powdered milk, soot, paint, paper.

The Power of Life

The difference between death and life…the immortal still rise from the grave and represent a strong life which is seen everywhere.  The freshness of the flowers differs from the quietness of the gray burnt tombstone, the dry and stained pieces of iron and even the spike tunnel where death is always near by.

Flowers still live and rise above all.

Iamthereflectionofyoubutdoyouseetheconfusioninsideofme?

Culver City High School. Grade 11.

Inside of me there is a thin line between depression and happiness. Sometimes I dangle between the two, as if I am suspended on a wire and tied up by my own thoughts. Outside I am the reflection of everyone around me. You look at me and see yourself, see who and what you want to see. Although you look at me forever, you will forever see your own reflection and never penetrate to the inside where I am forever suspended between the two poles of my mind.

Mom, Me, and the Pink Dancers

This work has to do with the cycle of life and where I am in that cycle now. It is a combination of fears–past and present, traumatic experiences—past and present, hopes, dreams, pain and frustration that continue, that I am more or less resigned to endure. It is to honor my mother and her teaching and love for me, my love for her and what each generation of women pass to one another.

The pink dancers were an image I formed from an interview I heard on public radio with young women activists who dress in pink and perform on the sidewalk of urban centers to attract people to engage them in discussions pertaining to social and political issues of the progressive left. I yearned and regretted for a moment that I was not there, was not a pink dancer. But soon saw that they were the next phase, and was glad just that they were there. Yes! to them.

War is still bad, starving children are still bad, and women still have to keep working to stop these things from happening. There is a lot of pain we must carry with us.

My own children (17yrs old & 21yrs old) saw this piece being made. The red stuffing, I told my questioning son, represented blood and tissue. However, it was not bad. Blood is everywhere when you are born. It is a good thing. Blood is life.

Such a small piece, so much to say. Very personal.

The Ideal Women

The work challenges the notion of an ideal woman and our perception of a perfect appearance. The Ideal Woman exists today in various forms.  The construction of the ideal woman is constantly propagated by the media, mass culture and social standards.  Reconstruction with corrective surgery, Cyber-heroines modeled in the realm of virtual reality, Plastic dolls with envious 38″-18″-34″ dimensions are but just a few examples of what influences our conscious psyche.

The box presents a metal pedestal upon which women fixate the psychological image of an ideal woman.  The proliferation of body types littering the box illustrates the quest to attain the ideal image through various stages of her life.  The doll parodies a woman’s fixation with her own body and her quest to find the perfect body.  Swathed in slim-wrap, draped with a tape measure, the woman is never satisfied and the craving for the image of the ideal woman never stops.

So, pause!  What / who / where is the Ideal Woman?  A fiction of our imagination, mostly.

Tight Fit

This piece of work explores the notion of restriction and objectification by juxtaposing an old-time practice of foot binding with fashionable high heeled shoes.  Pain, in both historical and contemporary context, is symbolized by the shrouded shoe.  Times may have changed, but certain perceptions of women remain deeply entrenched.  In the past, women were obliged to have their feet bound in order to be considered beautiful and desirable by men.  Having small feet was a symbol of stature and gentility.  Hence, women’s feet were forcibly bound to fit into dainty, three-inch long shoes.  Today, women subject themselves to the pain and discomfort of three-inch (or more!) high shoes to enhance their feminine appeal.  Yet, hidden behind the glossy look is this sense of inadequacy and the desire to be looked at.  Are we now considered willing participants of a game of restrictive beauty, to the point of disregarding the possible hazards by wearing heels?

Untitled

You may read and see,

But you can’t touch her.

You may look and sympathize,

But you can’t feel her pain.

You may think the wound is healed,

But you don’t know it stays forever.

She trusts to be loved and guarded,

And in return she got that.

She isolates herself from you

As her world is dark and lonely.

She is suffering behind that smile,

You don’t even realize it.

She is unable to accept the truth,

As it hurts to talk about it.

Listen now… “Why me!

I trusted him and this is the time when he RAPED me”

Who am I?

As a growing teenager, I often find it hard to determine who I am as an individual. I used the box as an icon of my self-being. I feel as a teenager we often take life for granted and forget how every decision we make is an important one. The stilts on the box are there to exaggerate how important the choices you make in life are. The shattered pieces of glass, directed toward the box, show the constant pressures in life. I chose mirror to show that by just looking in the mirror at yourself you think about who you are. The box is placed upside down to show how I have built my own shelter, apart from my family to protect myself in this world.

For Ritta

USA/Czech Republic

My sister died before I was a little girl.
She was put in a gas chamber in a
concentration camp.

My daddy was so sad he couldn’t stop
them so he made another little girl right
away so he could forget about Ritta and
be happy again

Only this was not ok with G-d. G-d
thought that this was too fast so he
played a trick on Daddy. He took
Ritta’s soul, which was still very upset
from being starved and gassed and
burned and sent it back to Earth.

Normally a soul would be allowed to
float around out there for a couple
hundred years or more to calm down
after doing Life. So it was shocking for
Ritta’s soul to come back too quickly
and-this was the mean part-to be
stuck in Janicka’s body.

This was very hard for me. I thought I
was supposed to smile. Everyone
wanted me to be a happy pretty little girl
so they could be happy and forget. But,
too bad looked like a bullfrog and I
could tell they thought that and were
ashamed. So no smiles. They didn’t
know about Ritta’s soul and that it took
up so much space may own little heart
didn’t have room to beat.

So along we went, poor starved gassed
and burned Ritta and what was left of
me and no one knew so I was very sad
and lonely. And poor Daddy couldn’t
forget Ritta because she was inside the
little bullfrog.

The Battlefield of Selfhood/ A Box of Empty Shells to Ponder

Beings killing out of jealousy, rage,
betrayal, revenge, self righteousness.

Some die without a loss of body though —
through abuse and intimidation, disagreement.

Untamed emotions creating a battlefield within.
Un-conquered, raw, heartless.

The primary battlefield.

Led from the mind, from the heat of hatred,
destroying another, destroying the Self.

Hear the names of outer battlefields —
Bosnia, Iraq,
Oklahoma City, Somalia, subways in Japan.
In the home,
Couples turning from lovers to killers.
Children killing children.

Anger looming in the human heart —
on the loose, unpredictable.
Where is the greatest battlefield to conquer,
on the terrain or in the heart?

Where to fight the battle?

A box of empty shells to ponder.

Grief Repair

All is metaphor, even that which we may take as fact. Human logic is fragile. The box may represent a construct of human logic. Boxes do not occur in nature. It contains wax with the translucency of human skin, threads, a needle and blood. The needle under the “skin” is a metaphor for the grief of women all over the world in their efforts to keep love and the grace of human relationships and community whole, despite a world which seems eternally based on war and conflict. The needle is used for healing. The box is a prayer for continued courage and creativity.

Untitled

Before 1994, our country was good. After April ’94, blood was shed. Many people died and the majority of genocide survivors are struggling with life.

So, the telephone you see is calling for help. We believe that God is the first to come.
Inside the box, there is my heart. I will never forget my relatives, my friends, children’s blood…

The blue color means that I hope to live happily. Jesus will take me with him.

Beatrice’s Box – A Coffin

The figures on the top represent her husband and four children who were all murdered during the genocide. She had to (forced) watch, as her husband was hacked into four or five pieces. Overwhelmed with tears, she could not go any further.
Note the small red heart on the side.

Posibilidades

What is this piece about? For me, it’s about the danger of sensuality. How we are beckoned by the flesh. How our desire can become our anguish. How a wrong decision can mean death, be it of the spirit or the body. How the need for self-destruction can be initiated in a seemingly healthy person from the hurt and pain of a relationship. Thus — the presence of the sword. Although I also see this sword as positive, perhaps a form of protection or an attribute, like that of Saint Agnes. *

The question of violence enters in here, too. This woman — in all her sensuality — is in a coffin. Why? Was she a victim of violence, of rape? Can our sensual self die under certain circumstances? Is our nudity kept hidden away in a dark, quiet place?

The veil also invokes the mysteriousness of Muslim women, their eyes being their only available sensual feature.

* (Saint Agnes was very beautiful, but she rejected all of her suitors, one of whom became angry and had her condemned to death. Since it was forbidden to execute virgins, she was first sent to a burdel. Nevertheless, no man was able to touch her. After being tortured, she was finally decapitated. She is often portrayed with a sword piercing her breast. She is the patron saint of virginal innocence.)

Ex/tension

As a woman artist, activist and feminist, I try to challenge all kinds of social stereotypes (conventions, boundaries) about women, art, politics, etc. that are causing the painful TENSION of my body and my mind.

I know that I share this feeling with many women artists from the past and the present.

I also want to express the women’s strength, courage and creativity which are the means to EXTEND those limits, labels, categories…..It’s hard work and it’s never done!

The Facade of Glamour

The glamour we see in women is not always representative of her inner self. It is just a facade. This box has all that goes with glamour on its outside, but on the inside it has all the turmoil and agony resulting from her daily chores.