Somewhere amidst the enormous number of thoughts and images that crowded my mind in the hours following my cancer diagnosis was the childhood memory of rowing a boat.
I was nine or ten and tall for my age, not particularly athletic. But how I loved to row that boat! My arms felt strong as I pulled against the water, and I was adept at maneuvering the oars to control my speed and direction. It was the perfect symbol for making my way through this new passage.
A few sketches in my journal set me off on the journey. As luck would have it, my negatives and print files included a number of pictures of boats and waterscapes. It seemed important to use these instead of accumulating more goods for someone to dispose of if the until-now unthinkable should occur. I gathered these and an eclectic array of surplus papers purchased for previous projects. The photo-as-symbol was not new to my work, nor was manipulation of the photographic material. It was as though every aspect of my working process was in place for dealing with the unknown by doing what I knew best. In the spaces between medical appointments and treatments, sickness and exhaustion, the works began to take shape.
The sequence of images coincides roughly with the unfolding of the treatment process, including surgery and a six-month regimen of chemotherapy and radiation. As I look back through my journal, however, it is impossible to determine an exact chronology of specific conceptions. What is most obvious is that the creative mind did not cease to function while the physical body was under duress. There were several days after each round of 5-FU when in spite of fatigue and other side effects my head would spin day and night with ideas for art work and ways to present them. Thoughts evolved and overlapped and gave birth to one another. Sometimes I examined contact sheets in search of images to say what I wanted to say; and sometimes ideas occurred in response to what I found while looking for something else. The first works completed were the ones for which I already had prints. Others required additional darkroom or studio work. Completion of The Memory, the piece that inspired the whole series, had to wait for the following summer when I could rent a rowboat from which to make the photos I needed.
The prognosis is now good, and the work continues to evolve. Life flashes before my eyes, highlighted by current events and choices. I have dared to invest in additional supplies and have taken more photographs to keep up with the flow of ideas. Meanwhile, the satisfaction of making the work is mitigating the memory of physical and emotional anguish, and the work itself is providing some resolution for the ever-present question as to why this all happened.
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