4 minute read. Content warning: Aging, brief mention of ableism in schools.
chatGPT Summary: Kay navigates an unexpected water leak at their FLEET residency, adapting their plans, salvaging materials, and reflecting on the physical demands of their art-making process as they acknowledge the impact of aging on their ability to work on the floor.
Today was pretty nice outside, but I was distracted by a leak in the trailer. At the start of my residency, I was informed that water would be added later in my stay, but in the past 2 weeks, I have just incorporated a lack of water into my routine. If I want a drink, there are fountains in the market, and I have a water bottle. If I want to wash my hands, I do it in the heated washrooms and then wait before returning to the trailer because it’s too cold to have wet hands. So, when I made space for the water installation yesterday, I didn’t intend the new water jug to be a part of my stay. The sun was shining this morning after a few grey days, so I planned to work on my large painting series today, knowing I could probably put a few outside to dry between layers.
However, when I arrived at the trailer, the water I had spied in a few places during yesterday’s installation was now worse. The water is running down the length of the trailer and has soaked through most of the prepped papers I had on the floor. I have since calmed down, but I was grumpy. I was excited about having space to work on my large paintings in the trailer, but it’s been slow going as I prioritized mapping, so it took me a bit to get in the right head space to begin working.
But, as with all temper tantrums, I eventually calmed down and took stock. The wet paper was put outside to dry, and there were no water stains. The kraft paper I use is designed to be water-resistant (although I find it takes water well when soaked for a while), and there was no harm done. I wiped down the floor, placed a few more pieces of scrap kraft paper where the leaks were coming in and then used the rest of the trailer to create two new forms for The Unseen series.
The previous forms I had traced didn’t require me to contort my body much, but this time, with the focus being on my toes and ankles, I was confronted by my aging body. Throughout my life, I have been pretty comfortable rolling around on the floor. I cannot sit cross-legged due to my back and hips (much to the chagrin of my ableist elementary school teachers), but I enjoy sitting on the ground up against the wall or laying out on flat surfaces. If there were more pictures of me in high school, I’ll bet more than half would be me lying on the ground in various dramatic poses. Reflecting, some of that came from wanting to challenge assumptions and living as much to the template of the quirky teen as I could (no denying that), but honestly, I like to spread out. It wasn’t until I was in university that an art teacher encouraged me and fellow classmates to embrace our gesture, and I understood how restricted I had felt when forced to work small.
That said, in my early forties and not as fit as I have previously been this past decade, being on the floor was a chore. I don’t love that. I pushed through and got the poses I wanted, but warm-ups and stretching might be essential to the rest of this work and a practice worth prioritizing in my middle age health regimen. Not ready to start moisturizing yet, though…
Technology note:
I used Adobe Premiere to slow down and create a timelapse of the archive footage of me, shot using my iPhone, working on The Unseen: Toes painting. I used chatGPT to create a summary and reading estimate, and recommend some content warnings for this blog, and Grammarly to assist me in spelling and grammar.