These photos were from a week before my diagnosis. I had work up in several places but here I was working on some photo documentation.
Art, not medical procedures was the focus of my life that year.
I had some fun projects, like this one, which were just to blow off steam.
My studio was huge and never ending. It was my place of solace. I grew into my larger space and I began building huge canvas'. I began doing very small and very large work simultaneously.
There was a rhythm to my life and it was coming out on my canvas. I would work on several at one time, just adding layers of paint. Hot fiery abstract skyscapes began forming as well as cool dark ones. Within those canvas, I built a sense of limbo and impending danger and chaos.
My sense of intuition was creeping it's way into my work. As I became more ill, my paintings changed, and without my knowing, reflected my health. The last painting I was working on showed the planes of my previous paintings, breaking up and falling from a green, ill coloured sky.
I always wonder now about other peoples sense of intuition. My studio was within a larger space and shared with two young women.
One of the women wasn't there a whole lot and began building large papier mache blob like sculptures. I couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be about. Months later, in hospital, I received my graduation catalog. When I looked through it, I found her card and description of her year long project. Her paper sculptures were cancer.
From her write up, "The specific concept I am fascinated by is mutated growth, which although alive, will eventually terminate both itself and the host it relies on."
I give her an F.