"You’re amazing, body! | Oled imeline, keha!" - Marita Liivak
Marita Liivak
Oil and Acrylic on canvas
100x100cm
I am contemplating the human body, referring to my own as the simplest and the closest example, with the metaphor of a "journey". The journey means development, growth, ascending on a vertical axis – from small to big, from a sprout to a tree – but it also represents the pursuit of perfection, gaining experience and skills, and optimizing usage.
The life journeys of living creatures, humans included, are usually depicted as patterns where juvenile specimens move (as once said by an old and wise Seto woman) "towards life”, while older individuals move “towards death". At some point in the middle of life, there is a break, and beyond that the path doesn’t lead towards greater strength, flexibility, blossoming and fertility. Instead, it heads towards fatigue, inactivity and inevitable halt – death. However, this stereotypical view overlooks the extremes of life and bodies, such as childhood and child's body, old age and old person's body. Moreover, the body’s development is uneven, depending on external factors. Despite a shared development pattern, countless variations appearing in the process result in zillion different bodies.
Reflecting on my own experience in my existing body, it has been a journey on a fragmentary and hectic axis – a trip, a journey or just a floe – marked by fun beginning, stormy middle part, many forced stops and setbacks. Now, I find myself in a rather enjoyable cruising mode. While many exciting (and perhaps more turbulent) times lie ahead, I look forward to speculating about them.
The body that was born in Kuressaare hospital at 3.30 p.m., in the Soviet Union, albeit in an almost free country, was the first grandchild in a large family. Despite being a girl, a tradition in our family for centuries, I was still considered the heiress. Growing up among the (grand)mothers and aunts of different ages was enriching. Becoming a woman – a strong concept on its own, regardless of the body. I learned about the importance of proper nutrition and vigorous work. I took advantage of various activities, particularly enjoying folk dance, where I could cover my body with archaic islanders' costumes, cinching them tightly with a long hand-woven belt. This tight traditional belt likely influenced by later fondness for snug clothes, especially pantyhose pulled up to the breast.
As a teenager in high school, I battled a serious body complex, perceiving my body as too fat and too tall. As the owner of that body I also felt lacking in feminine skills to take care of it. For a couple of years, I turned to gel nails and blonde hair dye.
This typical teenage body image, rife with anxiety, took an unexpected twist with the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis on June 13, 2013. The midsummer sun spread lovely warmth over the body full of the perseverance and fear in the procedure room of the Maarjamõisa hospital.
*
I can see transcendent, blurry spots, resembling fish spawn in my home garden ponds or any glassy mass that is hard to capture with the eye, moving faster than the mind. The pain accompanying eye movement induces panic, fearing the loss of eyesight. People gather most of their information through their eyes. However, is it possible to learn to read with your fingertips? In the morning, upon waking up, you initiate the system check: what is not functioning today? The thumb and fingertips of the left hand tingle. Test movements yield a definitive result – the fingertips no longer function as they once did. At least the eyes are back in business.
Gazing into the mirror, the body seems unusual. This peculiarity may not be immediately noticeable. Legs are straight, the knees are functional, hips parallel with the ground, no strange tingling or lifeless limbs. I stare at tousled hair, featuring lighter strands, covering an oval face with dry skin, a large mouth and one protruding tusk; a straight nose; overly narrow eyebrows and clear gray-blue eyes with long dark eyelashes... One pupil remains stationary; simultaneously, the other one can move left and right like a young foal.
In the morning, waking up in the hospital, you initiate the system check: what is not functioning today? The skin on the right side of the abdomen has lost sensitivity. This neglected part of the body is obviously not receiving the attention it deserves! Oh, right side of the abdomen, you are so beautiful and nice, we have taken you for granted.
You administer the shots of medication, leaving blue marks and dry spots on your body. You sit under the dropper for hours, infusing potent drugs into your veins, enduring plasmapheresis, tests, tests, rehabilitation. You start to appreciate your body, longing for every rare moment when you can forget that you are merely a piece of meat in a container moved by millions of tiny muscle cells and nerve fibers, each crucial and necessary for a human body to feel normal as a whole.
*
Before long, as an inhabitant in this body, I grew weary of this monotonous and unpredictable existence. Although I had come to terms with my life and my mortality, this mere existence seemed rather challenging to me, and if there’s one thing I dislike, it's suffering. The purest form of suffering is felt in bodily troubles. So, overnight, I regained my health: I quit smoking and drinking, became more active, ate healthier and praised my incredible body. "You’re amazing, body! You’ve been moving me around on this Earth for so long! A truly intelligent machine with all its functions cleverly worked out..."
I intend to spend many active, crazy and enjoyable years in this body, even though I am aware that at some point, the disease may return with a vengeance, making it difficult for me to move, talk or function in a way that I truly appreciate. Nevertheless, I have experienced many passionate, horrible, sweet and peaceful moments in this vessel that I cherish.
My body has provided me with the opportunity to experiment, to gain weight, to lose weight, to epilate and wax, and then practice total tweezer/razor asceticism. For instance, in the future, I can grow lovely Matilda hair or undergo a mastectomy. Every human body, broken or not, is an exceptionally versatile and durable machine, and its sole purpose can be to offer an opportunity to live an exciting life.
*
Among other things, it is important to me that the body I have been inhabiting be properly recycled. The human body is rather toxic. The sanctity of graveyard soil may be linked to the fact that all bodies decompose, releasing fluids and larvae into the graveyard soil, along with hip prostheses and pure silicone. My body is filled with suspicious chemicals and high-tech biological materials, and all of this cannot be good food for the Earth’s biosphere. Still, I have a dream... A) When I die, I won't take up much space and won’t be a burden to anyone. B) My body will become a blackcurrant bush. I don't particularly like blackcurrants (at least, not until now). Compared to other dark berries like blueberries, grapes and blackberries, blackcurrants have some texture issues. So, it would be a nice gesture, even after crossing over, to symbolically compensate for my bias towards this bush. My little, imperfect but respectable body could be ideal for fertilizing a robust blackcurrant bush in a far corner of a garden. The berries could be consumed at the eater's own risk, but the plant might thrive. Thus, my body in the second round could have a certain vertical fling as well.
*
Feelings about participating in the project:
I like it. It generates a warm feeling because I like my body and I enjoy discussing it. I would be happy to share all my stand-, sitting and lying points (there are many, as I am mostly a bed-based organism).
Marita Liivak
Oil and Acrylic on canvas
100x100cm
I am contemplating the human body, referring to my own as the simplest and the closest example, with the metaphor of a "journey". The journey means development, growth, ascending on a vertical axis – from small to big, from a sprout to a tree – but it also represents the pursuit of perfection, gaining experience and skills, and optimizing usage.
The life journeys of living creatures, humans included, are usually depicted as patterns where juvenile specimens move (as once said by an old and wise Seto woman) "towards life”, while older individuals move “towards death". At some point in the middle of life, there is a break, and beyond that the path doesn’t lead towards greater strength, flexibility, blossoming and fertility. Instead, it heads towards fatigue, inactivity and inevitable halt – death. However, this stereotypical view overlooks the extremes of life and bodies, such as childhood and child's body, old age and old person's body. Moreover, the body’s development is uneven, depending on external factors. Despite a shared development pattern, countless variations appearing in the process result in zillion different bodies.
Reflecting on my own experience in my existing body, it has been a journey on a fragmentary and hectic axis – a trip, a journey or just a floe – marked by fun beginning, stormy middle part, many forced stops and setbacks. Now, I find myself in a rather enjoyable cruising mode. While many exciting (and perhaps more turbulent) times lie ahead, I look forward to speculating about them.
The body that was born in Kuressaare hospital at 3.30 p.m., in the Soviet Union, albeit in an almost free country, was the first grandchild in a large family. Despite being a girl, a tradition in our family for centuries, I was still considered the heiress. Growing up among the (grand)mothers and aunts of different ages was enriching. Becoming a woman – a strong concept on its own, regardless of the body. I learned about the importance of proper nutrition and vigorous work. I took advantage of various activities, particularly enjoying folk dance, where I could cover my body with archaic islanders' costumes, cinching them tightly with a long hand-woven belt. This tight traditional belt likely influenced by later fondness for snug clothes, especially pantyhose pulled up to the breast.
As a teenager in high school, I battled a serious body complex, perceiving my body as too fat and too tall. As the owner of that body I also felt lacking in feminine skills to take care of it. For a couple of years, I turned to gel nails and blonde hair dye.
This typical teenage body image, rife with anxiety, took an unexpected twist with the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis on June 13, 2013. The midsummer sun spread lovely warmth over the body full of the perseverance and fear in the procedure room of the Maarjamõisa hospital.
*
I can see transcendent, blurry spots, resembling fish spawn in my home garden ponds or any glassy mass that is hard to capture with the eye, moving faster than the mind. The pain accompanying eye movement induces panic, fearing the loss of eyesight. People gather most of their information through their eyes. However, is it possible to learn to read with your fingertips? In the morning, upon waking up, you initiate the system check: what is not functioning today? The thumb and fingertips of the left hand tingle. Test movements yield a definitive result – the fingertips no longer function as they once did. At least the eyes are back in business.
Gazing into the mirror, the body seems unusual. This peculiarity may not be immediately noticeable. Legs are straight, the knees are functional, hips parallel with the ground, no strange tingling or lifeless limbs. I stare at tousled hair, featuring lighter strands, covering an oval face with dry skin, a large mouth and one protruding tusk; a straight nose; overly narrow eyebrows and clear gray-blue eyes with long dark eyelashes... One pupil remains stationary; simultaneously, the other one can move left and right like a young foal.
In the morning, waking up in the hospital, you initiate the system check: what is not functioning today? The skin on the right side of the abdomen has lost sensitivity. This neglected part of the body is obviously not receiving the attention it deserves! Oh, right side of the abdomen, you are so beautiful and nice, we have taken you for granted.
You administer the shots of medication, leaving blue marks and dry spots on your body. You sit under the dropper for hours, infusing potent drugs into your veins, enduring plasmapheresis, tests, tests, rehabilitation. You start to appreciate your body, longing for every rare moment when you can forget that you are merely a piece of meat in a container moved by millions of tiny muscle cells and nerve fibers, each crucial and necessary for a human body to feel normal as a whole.
*
Before long, as an inhabitant in this body, I grew weary of this monotonous and unpredictable existence. Although I had come to terms with my life and my mortality, this mere existence seemed rather challenging to me, and if there’s one thing I dislike, it's suffering. The purest form of suffering is felt in bodily troubles. So, overnight, I regained my health: I quit smoking and drinking, became more active, ate healthier and praised my incredible body. "You’re amazing, body! You’ve been moving me around on this Earth for so long! A truly intelligent machine with all its functions cleverly worked out..."
I intend to spend many active, crazy and enjoyable years in this body, even though I am aware that at some point, the disease may return with a vengeance, making it difficult for me to move, talk or function in a way that I truly appreciate. Nevertheless, I have experienced many passionate, horrible, sweet and peaceful moments in this vessel that I cherish.
My body has provided me with the opportunity to experiment, to gain weight, to lose weight, to epilate and wax, and then practice total tweezer/razor asceticism. For instance, in the future, I can grow lovely Matilda hair or undergo a mastectomy. Every human body, broken or not, is an exceptionally versatile and durable machine, and its sole purpose can be to offer an opportunity to live an exciting life.
*
Among other things, it is important to me that the body I have been inhabiting be properly recycled. The human body is rather toxic. The sanctity of graveyard soil may be linked to the fact that all bodies decompose, releasing fluids and larvae into the graveyard soil, along with hip prostheses and pure silicone. My body is filled with suspicious chemicals and high-tech biological materials, and all of this cannot be good food for the Earth’s biosphere. Still, I have a dream... A) When I die, I won't take up much space and won’t be a burden to anyone. B) My body will become a blackcurrant bush. I don't particularly like blackcurrants (at least, not until now). Compared to other dark berries like blueberries, grapes and blackberries, blackcurrants have some texture issues. So, it would be a nice gesture, even after crossing over, to symbolically compensate for my bias towards this bush. My little, imperfect but respectable body could be ideal for fertilizing a robust blackcurrant bush in a far corner of a garden. The berries could be consumed at the eater's own risk, but the plant might thrive. Thus, my body in the second round could have a certain vertical fling as well.
*
Feelings about participating in the project:
I like it. It generates a warm feeling because I like my body and I enjoy discussing it. I would be happy to share all my stand-, sitting and lying points (there are many, as I am mostly a bed-based organism).
Marita Liivak
Oil and Acrylic on canvas
100x100cm
I am contemplating the human body, referring to my own as the simplest and the closest example, with the metaphor of a "journey". The journey means development, growth, ascending on a vertical axis – from small to big, from a sprout to a tree – but it also represents the pursuit of perfection, gaining experience and skills, and optimizing usage.
The life journeys of living creatures, humans included, are usually depicted as patterns where juvenile specimens move (as once said by an old and wise Seto woman) "towards life”, while older individuals move “towards death". At some point in the middle of life, there is a break, and beyond that the path doesn’t lead towards greater strength, flexibility, blossoming and fertility. Instead, it heads towards fatigue, inactivity and inevitable halt – death. However, this stereotypical view overlooks the extremes of life and bodies, such as childhood and child's body, old age and old person's body. Moreover, the body’s development is uneven, depending on external factors. Despite a shared development pattern, countless variations appearing in the process result in zillion different bodies.
Reflecting on my own experience in my existing body, it has been a journey on a fragmentary and hectic axis – a trip, a journey or just a floe – marked by fun beginning, stormy middle part, many forced stops and setbacks. Now, I find myself in a rather enjoyable cruising mode. While many exciting (and perhaps more turbulent) times lie ahead, I look forward to speculating about them.
The body that was born in Kuressaare hospital at 3.30 p.m., in the Soviet Union, albeit in an almost free country, was the first grandchild in a large family. Despite being a girl, a tradition in our family for centuries, I was still considered the heiress. Growing up among the (grand)mothers and aunts of different ages was enriching. Becoming a woman – a strong concept on its own, regardless of the body. I learned about the importance of proper nutrition and vigorous work. I took advantage of various activities, particularly enjoying folk dance, where I could cover my body with archaic islanders' costumes, cinching them tightly with a long hand-woven belt. This tight traditional belt likely influenced by later fondness for snug clothes, especially pantyhose pulled up to the breast.
As a teenager in high school, I battled a serious body complex, perceiving my body as too fat and too tall. As the owner of that body I also felt lacking in feminine skills to take care of it. For a couple of years, I turned to gel nails and blonde hair dye.
This typical teenage body image, rife with anxiety, took an unexpected twist with the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis on June 13, 2013. The midsummer sun spread lovely warmth over the body full of the perseverance and fear in the procedure room of the Maarjamõisa hospital.
*
I can see transcendent, blurry spots, resembling fish spawn in my home garden ponds or any glassy mass that is hard to capture with the eye, moving faster than the mind. The pain accompanying eye movement induces panic, fearing the loss of eyesight. People gather most of their information through their eyes. However, is it possible to learn to read with your fingertips? In the morning, upon waking up, you initiate the system check: what is not functioning today? The thumb and fingertips of the left hand tingle. Test movements yield a definitive result – the fingertips no longer function as they once did. At least the eyes are back in business.
Gazing into the mirror, the body seems unusual. This peculiarity may not be immediately noticeable. Legs are straight, the knees are functional, hips parallel with the ground, no strange tingling or lifeless limbs. I stare at tousled hair, featuring lighter strands, covering an oval face with dry skin, a large mouth and one protruding tusk; a straight nose; overly narrow eyebrows and clear gray-blue eyes with long dark eyelashes... One pupil remains stationary; simultaneously, the other one can move left and right like a young foal.
In the morning, waking up in the hospital, you initiate the system check: what is not functioning today? The skin on the right side of the abdomen has lost sensitivity. This neglected part of the body is obviously not receiving the attention it deserves! Oh, right side of the abdomen, you are so beautiful and nice, we have taken you for granted.
You administer the shots of medication, leaving blue marks and dry spots on your body. You sit under the dropper for hours, infusing potent drugs into your veins, enduring plasmapheresis, tests, tests, rehabilitation. You start to appreciate your body, longing for every rare moment when you can forget that you are merely a piece of meat in a container moved by millions of tiny muscle cells and nerve fibers, each crucial and necessary for a human body to feel normal as a whole.
*
Before long, as an inhabitant in this body, I grew weary of this monotonous and unpredictable existence. Although I had come to terms with my life and my mortality, this mere existence seemed rather challenging to me, and if there’s one thing I dislike, it's suffering. The purest form of suffering is felt in bodily troubles. So, overnight, I regained my health: I quit smoking and drinking, became more active, ate healthier and praised my incredible body. "You’re amazing, body! You’ve been moving me around on this Earth for so long! A truly intelligent machine with all its functions cleverly worked out..."
I intend to spend many active, crazy and enjoyable years in this body, even though I am aware that at some point, the disease may return with a vengeance, making it difficult for me to move, talk or function in a way that I truly appreciate. Nevertheless, I have experienced many passionate, horrible, sweet and peaceful moments in this vessel that I cherish.
My body has provided me with the opportunity to experiment, to gain weight, to lose weight, to epilate and wax, and then practice total tweezer/razor asceticism. For instance, in the future, I can grow lovely Matilda hair or undergo a mastectomy. Every human body, broken or not, is an exceptionally versatile and durable machine, and its sole purpose can be to offer an opportunity to live an exciting life.
*
Among other things, it is important to me that the body I have been inhabiting be properly recycled. The human body is rather toxic. The sanctity of graveyard soil may be linked to the fact that all bodies decompose, releasing fluids and larvae into the graveyard soil, along with hip prostheses and pure silicone. My body is filled with suspicious chemicals and high-tech biological materials, and all of this cannot be good food for the Earth’s biosphere. Still, I have a dream... A) When I die, I won't take up much space and won’t be a burden to anyone. B) My body will become a blackcurrant bush. I don't particularly like blackcurrants (at least, not until now). Compared to other dark berries like blueberries, grapes and blackberries, blackcurrants have some texture issues. So, it would be a nice gesture, even after crossing over, to symbolically compensate for my bias towards this bush. My little, imperfect but respectable body could be ideal for fertilizing a robust blackcurrant bush in a far corner of a garden. The berries could be consumed at the eater's own risk, but the plant might thrive. Thus, my body in the second round could have a certain vertical fling as well.
*
Feelings about participating in the project:
I like it. It generates a warm feeling because I like my body and I enjoy discussing it. I would be happy to share all my stand-, sitting and lying points (there are many, as I am mostly a bed-based organism).
