(no subject)
I didn’t realise that I had SAD to this extent. The sun came out in Brighton and I suddenly felt a lot better. It’s the fun fun week of premenstrual hell, during which it seems not without justification to freak out in the kitchen over the fact that neither kettle was working and I just wanted a fucking cup of tea- tea being the great (stolen)British practise of ‘how to get over this issue:step one. Make tea. Drink tea.’
Watching Tinu tipping around in her ballet shoes was surreal, but it provoked thought enough for a new project, focusing on performance arts and other aesthetic practises and the long term effects that ensue on the body- e.g the results of foot binding, corsets, ritual neck extension, etc. Its no doubt been done before but perhaps if approached in the right way and without too much righteous puritan earth-mother-ness it might have some potential to evoke questions about contemporary beauty practise- the long term effects of which are in some cases yet to be seen.
Unfortunately I hear that the last known case of bound feet has passed away, but really it doesn’t make that much difference in terms of research- its’ not like I was going to go all the way out east to draw some feet. Or..erm. Tins doesn’t appreciate my scathing at ballet, but everything about it aggravates me- the whole premise of training to painful ends but maintaining a smiling and poised exterior goes against all the honesty of experience I believe in- the idea that you deny yourself and continually wipe the slate clean- an impossible feat. Reveiws of lifestyle sometimes do not have driving force without the regret of a time before or the recognition of mistakes- the lessons learned the hard way. I remember some pretentious line in White Oleander about someone cutting words into her skin to ‘make it show, to wear her pain’. I don’t mean like that. Defining yourself by the dramatisation of trauma and building up over past states of mind, building on the ruins- it’s different.
Watching Tinu tipping around in her ballet shoes was surreal, but it provoked thought enough for a new project, focusing on performance arts and other aesthetic practises and the long term effects that ensue on the body- e.g the results of foot binding, corsets, ritual neck extension, etc. Its no doubt been done before but perhaps if approached in the right way and without too much righteous puritan earth-mother-ness it might have some potential to evoke questions about contemporary beauty practise- the long term effects of which are in some cases yet to be seen.
Unfortunately I hear that the last known case of bound feet has passed away, but really it doesn’t make that much difference in terms of research- its’ not like I was going to go all the way out east to draw some feet. Or..erm. Tins doesn’t appreciate my scathing at ballet, but everything about it aggravates me- the whole premise of training to painful ends but maintaining a smiling and poised exterior goes against all the honesty of experience I believe in- the idea that you deny yourself and continually wipe the slate clean- an impossible feat. Reveiws of lifestyle sometimes do not have driving force without the regret of a time before or the recognition of mistakes- the lessons learned the hard way. I remember some pretentious line in White Oleander about someone cutting words into her skin to ‘make it show, to wear her pain’. I don’t mean like that. Defining yourself by the dramatisation of trauma and building up over past states of mind, building on the ruins- it’s different.