In the Shadow of Mum
Yesterday, I exhibited 48 portraits as part of my Honours project, titled Talk to Me. It felt like giving birth to a giant, new, reassembled self. As I was installing the show, I saw an announcement that Jane Goodall had died. Jane was my childhood hero, introduced to me by Mum. She read In the Shadow of Man to me as a bedtime story. We shared in the trials and tribulations of the chimps and mourned their losses, particularly Flo, who was discovered by her infant, Flynn, lying face down in a stream of water. With adult vision, I see now that Mum, a child psychologist, was also sharing with me her learnings from a doctorate in attachment theory, and perhaps preparing me for her own death at the age of 40?
Not long after deinstalling the exhibition, I was consumed by a deep, bodily longing for Mum. This is strange because I have passed many milestones without her, almost forgetting her absence as I face up and soldier on. The experience of seeing my labour on the wall and all the painful iterations of self, unravelled me because I could see how much I have struggled with identity and love since I lost Mum at the age of 12. I was rattled out of my brave face and could see my vulnerability projected on the screen-sized wall of portraits.
Driving to a friend’s, in a manual car recently bequeathed to me by my aunt (Mum’s sister), I was feeling this strange, long-buried grief rise as I tried to negotiate gears and interpret signs appearing on the dashboard - S; SE. As I turned up Punt Road, the pain of missing her caved in my chest like both a cannonball weight and a deep void. At the age of 54, I called her on my imaginary car phone and began a conversation with her, explaining how much I wanted to feel her presence again, to have her wise counsel, to bask in the knowledge that I was seen and loved. The terror of losing my north star returned, and just at the moment, another symbol appeared on the dashboard - N. Suddenly, it all made sense. I need to sit in the silence of loss and I need to honour my grief.
There is one portrait amongst the 45 that I like the most because it shows my vulnerability and courage together. This is the face that I want to take forward, but to do so, I also need to confront the shadow of Mum and make peace with her absence. I feel that stepping into and out of her shadow will be my next project. I have a box of slides and her travel journal, documenting her adventures to Europe via Asia by boat in the sixties. This was before she married. I will start there, looking to see through her eyes and hear through her voice.
