Skip to main content

Art in the Park- a reminder of a difficult time in my life

Jason Kimes' "The Least Amount of Space"

This weekend, while visiting Tennessee for my grandson's wedding, we happened upon a unique park filled with architectural sculptures. As we wandered through this huge outdoor exhibit, we were amazed at the craftmanship. There were several sculptures that caught my eye, but one in particular, Jason Kime's "The Least Amount of Space." 

The sculpture was amazing and made of thousands of iron rods. As I walked around the piece experiencing it, I felt myself remembering a time when I hunkered down and huddled beneath the scrutinizing glare of the world. 

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, in 2014, I found myself withdrawing from the world. Once very self-assured and confident, I was all of a sudden insecure and fearful. I had no idea what my future held. I wasn't ready to die. 

Without friends or family to consult, I retreated into myself. There, I found solace. Though I never dared trust in my own strength for survival, I knew One who would sustain me, Jesus. 

Day after day, as breast cancer seemed to devour my world of normalcy, I curled tighter and tighter into a safe little ball and what I found was as I decreased, He increased. 

I knew in me there was no good thing, but in Him, all things held together and existed. 

Though I had no idea what my future held, I knew Who held my future. 

It took years before I felt safe enough to unfurl, allowing myself to open and bloom again, but I'm thankful He gave me space and grace. 

Mr. Kime's sculpture, I noticed, was carefully constructed. Each iron rod had been welded into place to form a perfect figure. I wondered at the process behind the work and why the artist had chosen to portray the human form in such a protective position. Had he experienced deep pain in his life or perhaps felt it from someone? 

Art is such a beautiful expression of our deepest feelings. I've found it to be very therapeutic in my own healing process. Often, when I have no words to speak, I am able to express feelings with paint, clay, or other artistic mediums. 

It's important for those affected by cancer to have a creative outlet. Some wield words and others wield brushes, but not matter the tool, the result is the same - an outpouring of what's been pent up for too long. 

Seeing, touching, and experiencing art is powerful. I enjoy both participating in it and being the creator of it. 

Kimes' "The Least Amount of Space" is a thought-provoking work. It could have been named "The Experience of Pain", "Devastation," "Shelter in Place," or a hundred various titles, but Mr. Kimes chose the one that spoke to his aesthetic, and I respect that.  

Though it's been almost 8 years since diagnosis, I find myself a "work in progress." Some days are easier than others and some more difficult. If I were a sculptor, I'd have probably worked and reworked my piece over and over again through the years. I may have even smashed and destroyed it, giving up only to start over a day or two later. And that's the thing - cancer affects everyone differently. We work through it the best we can. We layer on piece after piece, rebuilding and refashioning our armor, until we begin to feel almost complete again. It's an ongoing process, one we must take both lightheartedly and seriously at the same time - much the way we view art. 

Trappist monk, Thomas Merton, says it so well - "Art enables us to find ourselves and loose ourselves at the same time.”

I hope you'll take time to let art speak to you. You may be amazed at what it will say.


Popular posts from this blog

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out, especially when I read a friend's blog post and I just can't wrap my head around it. This morning, I was reading a post from a fellow breast cancer survivor. She said her cancer has returned and is growing in her spine. As soon as I read the words, I burst into tears. I just didn't understand! We'd been diagnosed with the same type of cancer in the same year. How could it be that her cancer had returned and mine had not? And what made it even more difficult to understand and accept was the fact that she'd chosen to go the traditional treatment route. I'd opted not to do that. She'd endured chemotherapy, radiation, and the anti-hormone therapy afterward. I'd refused chemo, had done 28 rounds of radiation, and had only taken the anti-hormone drugs for a couple of months. It just didn't compute and it certainly didn't seem fair. But that's what sucks about cancer. It doesn't follow the rules.

Cancer the gift that keeps on giving - the high cost of cancer

There's a basket of bills sitting in the corner of my bedroom. I try not to look at it as I enter the room but I know it's there. Its contents spill out onto the floor whenever my husband stuffs another bill into the basket. Usually, when the mail comes, he gets it first so he can filter what I see and what I don't see. Since he's the only one working, he takes care of our financial responsibilities and while I'm thankful for that, I'm not ignorant about our mounting bills. Cancer is expensive. Even if you've reached maintenance phase, it's costly. There are always tests to be run, blood to be taken, doctors to see. It never ends. Just knowing this will be a continual process for the rest of my life frustrates me and the alternative, death, will be my only way out. It would be nice to know that cancer could be a once and done kind of thing but that's only wishful thinking. Everyone knows cancer is a long and very involved illness. I had no id

Annual checkup yields good news!

Yesterday I went to the Cancer Treatment Centers of America for my annual check up. For those unfamiliar with the cancer treatment center, it's an integrative facility that provides services for the body, mind, and spirit. My day began in the survivorship department. While there, I met with the doctor and was asked about how I'd been feeling both physically and emotionally. We talked for about half an hour. The doctor and I had a few laughs and it was probably the most pleasant visit I've ever had. Instead of making me feel that she was the doctor and I was the patient, I felt like we were old friends just having a good chat. It was refreshing and I left her office feeling very optimistic. Next was the port lab where I have my blood drawn. It's always a challenge there because I always have to explain about my lymphedema and why it's necessary to have blood drawn from my hand instead of my arm. You'd think, after 4 years of being a patient there, they'