Wednesday, November 4, 2009

A Ghost of Myself


After voting yesterday my son and I paid a visit to the Detroit Science Center to see the “Accidental Mummies of Guanajuato” exhibition. Detroit is the first of seven cities on the tour of the mummies. Because of certain soils and certain dry conditions, mummies occurred naturally in Guanajuato and have been a tourist attraction for years. They are on view in this exhibit.

It was a very gentle show of very quiet, long-dead people. The overriding impression was of a dull brown, the color of a worn-out paper lunch bag. Everything had become a shade of that color, from the parchment-like skin stretched over fragile bones to the ribbons and bows and buckles and stockings left clinging to the remarkably tiny, mostly very Indian bodies.

Years ago one of my professors brought to class the mummified body of a cat that had squeezed under the crawl space of his house and died. It was beautiful in death in a pose of agony that was nothing more tragic than the slackening of muscles and jaw. It had taken on the exact same brown color as the human bodies in the exhibit. It was almost weightless and there was no odor at all, except the soft odor of dust and earth. We spent hours drawing the twisted form, understanding the form and the process.

At the exhibit I came face to face with the figure of a woman who had been very old when she died. She was fully dressed in a formerly colorful skirt and shawl, with a full head of white hair and, as tiny as she was, gave the impression of a woman who was secure in a certain level of power and intelligence. I knew at once she had been a witch before even reading the copy. And that she had been loved.

She greeted me with her hollowed-out eyes as if she knew me, and seemed to invite me to come over to the other side for a visit. So I painted this portrait of myself as a ghost, faded and brown and haunting empty rooms with chains rattling and my jaw hanging loose, too. The map in the painting tells us where we have been and where we might be going.

Acrylic on paper and silk with feather border. 32 x 40 cm.

8 comments:

Mary Stebbins Taitt said...

OOOoh, very creepy and yet calm.

We want to see that exhibit but haven't been yet.

Mary Stebbins Taitt said...

I'm just reading a book about zombies--unbeknownst to me when I got the book--and . . .

V said...

The show is worth seeing. Let me know what your impressions are once you do see it.

Mary Stebbins Taitt said...

I think this might be one of my favorite pieces of yours, I really like it a lot.

Mary Stebbins Taitt said...

Do they allow children there? Would a young child be upset by it (eight years old?) (We were wondering if we shoudl take our graddaughter or leave her behind.)

V said...

They will tell you that the show is recommended for children age 13 and up, but they will turn no one away. You will be allowed to make your own decisions for your children. I saw lots of very small children and none appeared disturbed by the exhibit.

V said...

My friend, singer/songwriter, Gary Brumley, was inspired by this painting to write a song. He has allowed me to include it here, with a link to his music video:

A LITTLE BIT AT ALL BY GARY BRUMLEY

gotta be blind to know the light

gotta be deaf to hear the night

gotta be lost to find the chains are in place

gotta be cold to build heat

gotta be one armed blind and beat

gotta feel it all

before you know a little bit of it all

gotta be lied to to know the truth

gotta be drifting to know your roots

gotta have some worn out heels

on your travelin boots

gotta be numb in your feet

near to the dead

and the flat liners beat

just to know that you are some how still alive

gotta make fire in the dead of the night

gotta know death to feel the life

gotta be burning up with pain

in the frozen night

gotta know the still to know the rage

gotta rattle chains to beat the cage

gotta be broken down and blind

to know about age

gotta be struck by the lightnings light

gotta be frost bit in the ice

to know the fleeting moments of your rights

gotta be tender when its time

gotta be tough and tow the lines

gotta be cold to make stir some heat

gotta be broken armed and beat

gotta feel it all

before you know a little bit of it all

gotta lose your hair and all your teeth

hear the sound of your brittle bones creak

gotta feel it all

before you know a little bit of it all

A Little Bit At All

V said...

Clearly Mr. Brumley is a "Man of Letters".