s2 week 4 entry
Rebecca Edwards, Induction
About 4 years ago I had a life changing experience while viewing an artwork in the Art Gallery of Queensland. Now I dont consider myself to be squeamish, I have never fainted, and watched with great interest when my side was stitched up by the doctor. Over these holidays just gone I spent 2 weeks voluntering at a nursing home-this included changing nappies/pads for the elderly incontinent, and showering and cleaning out the dirty noses, eyes and mouths of unfortunate victims of severe disabling strokes. However, when I walked into this darkened room at the AGQLD which was showing the work, consisting of a large wall filled with around 12 large screens depicting repeately three women in the final, graphic, detailed minutes of giving birth. Add moaning and screaming that any other human could only interperet as sounds that involuntarily come from another human being tortured with a pain that is inconcievable.Consider that the repeating images are all run from a different start time so they are constant, lights flicker crazily. Babies were squeezed from the nurturing wombs of these woman along with buckets of blood and what I can only descibe as muck, white, greyish-white, greyish-clear-white thick, slimy,filmy muck.
I left the room finding a quite spot to sit in order to try to dispel my nausea and to begin to comprihend what I had just experienced. I was horrified.
This work should be mandatory viewing for all teenagers, in my oppinion it was the best contraception invented.
'Induction' s an honest depiction of the experience of giving birth. It is not sweetly smelling flowers, soft clean cotton blankets and baby wraps, the contented murmer of the the powder fresh newborn baby resting warmly against its delighted, euphoric, glowing mother while a grining proud father sits lovingly beside his new family. That is after...in movies! While the after is certainly better then the during and for most new mothers they are overwhelmed with love and happiness and hormones for their new baby, the actual birth for most women is the true opposite of fun. I liked how the mother in the poem did not turn all mushy afterwoods but felt a sense of pride on the survival of both her and her baby, as she should. Even though as Edwards says this dance is timeless it is incredably personal. I say the more drugs they'll give you the better, no desire to be a hero here.
I found that there was a certain irony about the loss of dignity between a babies birth (induction) and death (wit). Dignity is a concept that is learnt, the actual baby I presume does not feel undignified, probably a bit pissed off the some persons hand keeps tapping it on the head. Medical procedures have the effect of being undignified, our personal space, and spaces in this instance are not usually poked and proded by virtual strangers for our health. Usually its because it seemed like a good idea after half a bottle of vodka! just jokes...
Induction is confronting, it is honest, and in its honesty it is beautiful.
About 4 years ago I had a life changing experience while viewing an artwork in the Art Gallery of Queensland. Now I dont consider myself to be squeamish, I have never fainted, and watched with great interest when my side was stitched up by the doctor. Over these holidays just gone I spent 2 weeks voluntering at a nursing home-this included changing nappies/pads for the elderly incontinent, and showering and cleaning out the dirty noses, eyes and mouths of unfortunate victims of severe disabling strokes. However, when I walked into this darkened room at the AGQLD which was showing the work, consisting of a large wall filled with around 12 large screens depicting repeately three women in the final, graphic, detailed minutes of giving birth. Add moaning and screaming that any other human could only interperet as sounds that involuntarily come from another human being tortured with a pain that is inconcievable.Consider that the repeating images are all run from a different start time so they are constant, lights flicker crazily. Babies were squeezed from the nurturing wombs of these woman along with buckets of blood and what I can only descibe as muck, white, greyish-white, greyish-clear-white thick, slimy,filmy muck.
I left the room finding a quite spot to sit in order to try to dispel my nausea and to begin to comprihend what I had just experienced. I was horrified.
This work should be mandatory viewing for all teenagers, in my oppinion it was the best contraception invented.
'Induction' s an honest depiction of the experience of giving birth. It is not sweetly smelling flowers, soft clean cotton blankets and baby wraps, the contented murmer of the the powder fresh newborn baby resting warmly against its delighted, euphoric, glowing mother while a grining proud father sits lovingly beside his new family. That is after...in movies! While the after is certainly better then the during and for most new mothers they are overwhelmed with love and happiness and hormones for their new baby, the actual birth for most women is the true opposite of fun. I liked how the mother in the poem did not turn all mushy afterwoods but felt a sense of pride on the survival of both her and her baby, as she should. Even though as Edwards says this dance is timeless it is incredably personal. I say the more drugs they'll give you the better, no desire to be a hero here.
I found that there was a certain irony about the loss of dignity between a babies birth (induction) and death (wit). Dignity is a concept that is learnt, the actual baby I presume does not feel undignified, probably a bit pissed off the some persons hand keeps tapping it on the head. Medical procedures have the effect of being undignified, our personal space, and spaces in this instance are not usually poked and proded by virtual strangers for our health. Usually its because it seemed like a good idea after half a bottle of vodka! just jokes...
Induction is confronting, it is honest, and in its honesty it is beautiful.