Now (that the Armory Show is over) We Return to our Usually Scheduled Program

That is, more sketchbook stuff: this dating back to the time when the children I had prepared for my entire life up 'til then, refused to be born. These little watercolors seem sort of comic and light-hearted to me now, but that was the darkest decade of my life and I still wonder that I managed to survive the craziness, rage and depression. My body had betrayed me completely and I subjected myself to as much "science project" as my meager health plan would provide, which, clearly, wasn't enough. Me and how many thousands of other women? It was and still is more than I can comprehend and shook my world order more severely than any of the cataclysmic global change stuff that currently rocks the daily news. For a long time, I considered doing a serious piece about the whole drama, but 20 years later, I still can't touch it. So for now, this is all I can muster. I vaguely remember a sense of ironic detachment when I did these. It was a desperate attempt to "get a grip" whilst treading the quicksand of despair. I even wrote poetry during that period.

Actually, the middle one reminds me of a painting I did when I was still young, optimistic and blithely unaware of the impending tragedy. They say that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Hah! they also say (or at least my therapist did) that "Time heals all wounds." In my opinion, time only makes you old. You learn to live with the wounds.