The Cave (Grievance Flowstate)

When I came up for air with the final tiny line on the Sapling Song’s ribcage, I quickly turned the page and kept going. The pursuit was not over, the peace hadn’t captured my mind yet as it had while sawing, shaving, sanding, and sealing the surfboard I was making. The runner’s high had not been reached. I Google Image searched “nude grief” in hopes of images that looked like the girl on the last page - and I stumbled across sketches of men that screamed similarity, and discovered Paul Cadmus. After skimming his Wikipedia I felt what is generally described as catharsis, but more deeply, I felt the relief of seeing exactly what I felt I needed to make.

Basing the postures on a few of Cadmus’ sketches, I imagined the transition between positions of pain. Lying in the fetal position in absolute defeat, to a more structured upright ball of pain, to a hint at getting up. While at times overstimulation can be all consuming, painful to the brain and body - it flows, and leaves us for even just a small amount of time. Long enough to go brush your teeth, or drink a glass of water - sometimes even long enough to do more. Drawing from Cadmus’ imagery, I understood the beauty of grieving, an how universal and humbling it is. 

Reflecting on my fixation on nude figures, I think the universality of nudity is why I hold it as a theme. We are born naked. We spend time with ourselves, naked - at the least to bathe. We know our own naked bodies better than anyone, the moles and scars, the shape of our hips, and the bits we wish were not - but our raw identity is right there. As layers are added, things get messy. Underwear matches if theres an inkling someone might see it, commercials show us what will flatter our figure, pop culture sells us personality and the clothes to get there, and our wardrobe becomes our most obvious statement about ourselves, no conversation necessary.

I choose the disrobed honesty of the body if I choose humans, because it is the way I can rationalize being one. While I struggle to find a consistent image - presenting in all black one day, a smattering of paisley the next, stained overalls another, and moisture wicking running clothes to top it off - I figured out the meaning of the common consolation “just imagine they’re all naked” in my life. You know, when you’re nervous to speak or appear in front of an audience, a class - and someone always says “just imagine they’re all naked” - I thought the point was laughter, and for some it may be.

But it finally clicked when I thought “imagine that they’re all naked - they’re just as human as you.”