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PERSONAL MYTHOLOGIES
Each of my grandmothers played an important role in my life. I am the youngest grandchild for both of them, so I knew them the least compared to the rest of my family. The memories I hold are not of them in their prime like those of my parents, but of them as they were when I was growing up. I wrote a list of the first things that came to mind when thinking about each woman- pianos, key chains, tiny shoes, random things I found around their apartments that I would fiddle with. Chunky necklaces, pins and clip-on earrings were a shared experience I had with the both of them. With these objects, I used the influence of ancient greek pottery, specifically from the Orientalizing Period (mid 8th to mid 7th century BC) to translate these memories into stories of my grandmothers. This type of pottery was characterized by bands of animals and patterns. I turned my memories into their own patterns around my vessels and created each woman’s personal mythology.
When telling my parents about the things that remind me of my grandmothers, I could see that they didn’t agree. They don’t think of mail and napkin holders when envisioning their mothers but of each woman in her best. I want my art to show my personal relationship with each woman and not their lives in whole. I want the viewer to learn about each woman the same way I did growing up, not through deep intellectual conversations but through the things they surrounded themselves with and the stories that they would tell me. Not only is my work a way to commemorate them, but it’s also a way for my experiences to be solidified and made into an object that can be shared with the audience. I want to show that sharing time with a loved one, no matter how short, can leave lasting impressions and shape your memories.
Booma (92)
Booma (92)
12 in by 6 in
Paper mache and acrylic paint
Spring, 2021
Vase of my grandmother Booma (1923-2015)
Mermer (94)
Mermer (94)
11 in by 6 in
Paper mache and acrylic paint
Spring, 2021
Vase of my grandmother Mermer (1925-2019)
Booma
Booma
On my father’s side, the things I remember of my grandmother Booma (Temmie) are very different compared to those of my father. She had a major stroke before I was born, wrecking her short term memory. My dad always says that I never got to see her true personality. When I think of her, I remember more of the items she had in her apartment that showed shadows of her past self. She constantly asked my dad and his brothers about who starred in what movie, making it feel like they were on a quiz show. She had her own local TV show about jewish tales and the theater was very important to her. I remember playing with her bowl of seashells, a reminder of her love of the beach. I remember running my fingers on her napkin holders, paper mache slices of lemon and lime, during one of her many parties, her largest being the many birthday parties she threw for herself. The largest piece of furniture in the living room was her grand piano that I would use to show off what I had learned in my music lessons, despite the fact that the piano was woefully out of tune.
Mermer
Mermer
My grandmother on my mother’s side, Mermer (Merilyn), was a woman on the go. I was told of her many festive parties. She had a memory like a steel trap, able to recall the fabric of an outfit she wore back 50 years ago. But what I experienced was different than the woman she saw herself as when she was younger. She held on to her independence as long as she could, no matter how scary her driving got. When she finally conceded to her fragility, she did so with style. I can see her purple, flowery folding cane resting against her chair. I see the many free tote bags she would carry along with her purse, full of articles and magazines she thought I would enjoy. Whenever we picked her up from her apartment, she would hand a pile of mail to my mom, usually bills and important documents. She talked about who would keep which crystal glass from her collection after she passed. I inherited her box of tiny silver spoons that she collected while traveling, which I remember playing with when I was younger.
FALL 2020
What does it mean to cross boundaries between the real and the ideal? I imagine it’s like crossing a sea of normalcy and going against nature. With my depression, achieving this goal of happiness feels like an uphill battle. I want to chain the happiness to myself and never let it go. I am attempting to simplify these feelings, up and down, in and out, pink and blue. By simplifying it to a binary, it helps me fall into the art making and allow myself to enjoy the process of creating art for art’s sake, which always makes me happy.
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