I am more tired than I can say of being bald.
One of the advantages for me of this situation is that I rarely look at myself. When I do, I don't really look while I look. I do a quick scan. "Yep, still there." I avoid seeing myself.
I can tolerate being bald this way, but just barely. And it's getting harder all the time.
It's like I'm naked in a socially-acceptable way.
*******
I am an artist and I haven't been in my studio since diagnosis began, since late September.
I've been wondering why this is. I suspect it's because when I'm in my studio, I subconsciously spend many hours thinking about my life and the life around me, and this effects my art.
I do not want my art to be influenced by cancer or cancer treatment. It might be okay later, when I'm done, but there will be no making art while I'm in the throes of this crap.
*******
I haven't been entering any art competitions, or exhibitions, or contacting galleries, or all the other marketing that most artists, including myself, aren't very good at.
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| That Damned Teapot |
But about the time this cancer stuff started, I was approached by a curator about showing "That Damned Teapot". Its real name is "I Felt Like Tea", and I made it for an invitational a few years ago. I had never done anything like it, and learned that invitationals should be carefully considered if they require making a new piece of art.
That Damned Teapot has won awards, been requested for shows, and been highly admired by those who see it. This is frustrating because it's not really my oeuvre, thus its nickname. My real work hasn't been nearly as popular.
I know there's a lesson here, somewhere.
Maybe a couple.
The curator was putting together a show at University House, a very nice retirement home for University of Washington faculty, staff and students. She had seen That Damned Teapot in another exhibit.
The show she was curating was called "The Art of Food", and the opening was fantastic. Great food, great beverages, live music, hundreds of old folk and their family members, tons of artists, and tons of art.
As I said, this occurred about the time I was diagnosed. The following show there, which opened last night is "Inspired by the West". I wasn't going to offer anything to display, but realized I've got plenty of work that's applicable, the openings there are actually fun (as opposed to all the stress that goes along with an opening in a "real" gallery), and it wouldn't be a problem to provide four pieces. Perfect for the low-energy and unproductive artist.
Four of my Corvids are up for three months:
- Corvus Seattlensis #2
- Corvus Antiquus #1
- Corvus Yellowstonensis
- A Highlands Corvid Visits Yellowstone
The opening was wonderful, just like before. I went as my bald self and got a few polite stares. Lots of friends showed up, and I met some of the other artists. I talked a lot. The opening went from 5:30 to 7:30 and by 7:00 I was ready to go. When I got home, I fell into my Lay-Z-Bum chair and couldn't move. I was surprisingly tired and without energy.
It was the chemo.
I've never been that tired before, without being sleepy. It was like all the energy had been drained out of my body.
I'm really glad I submitted work and went to the opening, but it took a lot out of me.
*******
Weird.
I am a victim and participant of this time in cancer treatment history. I am getting just about the best current and tested cancer treatment I can get. But it's still poison. I'm allowing horrible chemicals to be injected into my body every week. It's killing plenty of healthy cells while it supposedly kills the cancer cells remaining in my body.
I can clearly see evidence of the healthy cells being killed. I'm bald. My finger and toe nails are dark. I've gained about 20 pounds. My stamina is poor.
I can't see evidence of the cancer cells being killed. Everyone's assuming they are, but I can't tell either way. Hell, I could barely tell I had cancer in the first place.
Treatment keeps getting better all the time, and future/better than the present treatment is obviously not available to me now.
I envy the future cancer patients whose treatment will only kill the cancer in their bodies. I know it will happen some day.
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