My February pages are to blame...
well mostly...
I wondered what it would be like to love myself completely..
and so I began to do some inner work..
and decided to start with
words..
there are several groups online raising consciousness about
body image and as I was listening to a kick starter video, I heard the young narrator
refer to her breast as her boob..
it was a wonderful video and a worthwhile cause...
but I couldn't get past that word,
boob.
most of us have used it, nonchalantly, mindlessly...
but in doing my work, I remembered again how important words are..
and that is my grandmother Millie's doing..
you see, she was a reader, she insisted that we use the correct anatomical terms for our bodies.
when I came home from junior high one day and referred to my breast as a boob,
she explained to me that a "boob was an idiot",
and there was nothing idiotic about my breasts.
words have such power..
they can cut and stab, and they can heal and praise..
how did we get to a place where the common term for a necessary and beautiful part of the female body
is commonly described in such sophomoric terms..?
we live in that brave new world, we read about years ago,
our Orwellian future is here...
I don't have all the answers but I know that when it comes to body image
our words can heal us..
and that we can reclaim our power through
our words
ingredients: gesso, paper ephemera, antique prints, pencil, pen, acrylic paint, staples, rub on letters, transparencies, walnut ink.
we delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.
Maya Angelou
ciao, ciao..
