Carry Piece, Performance, 7 Days
Grief is an emotional weight closely associated with loss and attachment. Sometimes subtly operating in the background, other times painfully present, it accompanies us throughout our daily living. The burden of carrying grief can affect our lives to varying degrees, sometimes completely inhibiting our ability to function. As thoughts have the power to physically alter the cells in our bodies, it literally becomes a part of us, changing our composition and the way we carry ourselves in the world.
The unanticipated passing of a brother spawned my intimate relationship with grief. In many ways, this performance mirrored my experience with mourning and the effects of looking too closely at a singular event. "Carry Piece" was an attempt to make visible the struggle of an otherwise private experience.
During this weeklong performance, I donned a bag of ceramic bones on my back. At a little over six pounds, the weight was noticeable, but not enough to completely prohibit daily activities. Two rules governed the performance: I was not allowed to remove the bag and others were not allowed to carry the bag themselves. They could, however, help me cope by making the bag more comfortable.
The bag of bones accompanied me in the shower, during my commute, at work and during whatever activities lay ahead for the day. I even held the bag on my chest while sleeping. If it happened to slip off in the night, it would be there waiting in the morning. This symbol and physical resemblance of grief was consistently present.
To conclude the performance, I found a peaceful setting that I could revisit and laid the bones to rest. Though I experienced incredible relief after removing the weight, I continued to carry a memory of the experience through bruising, intense muscle tension and inflamed back spasms.
"Carry Piece" reinforced what I had learned about love, vulnerability and interconnectedness. As with my personal experience, I received an abundance of support through shared stories, interventions and words of encouragement. The project served as a reminder of the love we have for each other, the universal nature of the human experience and the inescapable persistence of grief.
The unanticipated passing of a brother spawned my intimate relationship with grief. In many ways, this performance mirrored my experience with mourning and the effects of looking too closely at a singular event. "Carry Piece" was an attempt to make visible the struggle of an otherwise private experience.
During this weeklong performance, I donned a bag of ceramic bones on my back. At a little over six pounds, the weight was noticeable, but not enough to completely prohibit daily activities. Two rules governed the performance: I was not allowed to remove the bag and others were not allowed to carry the bag themselves. They could, however, help me cope by making the bag more comfortable.
The bag of bones accompanied me in the shower, during my commute, at work and during whatever activities lay ahead for the day. I even held the bag on my chest while sleeping. If it happened to slip off in the night, it would be there waiting in the morning. This symbol and physical resemblance of grief was consistently present.
To conclude the performance, I found a peaceful setting that I could revisit and laid the bones to rest. Though I experienced incredible relief after removing the weight, I continued to carry a memory of the experience through bruising, intense muscle tension and inflamed back spasms.
"Carry Piece" reinforced what I had learned about love, vulnerability and interconnectedness. As with my personal experience, I received an abundance of support through shared stories, interventions and words of encouragement. The project served as a reminder of the love we have for each other, the universal nature of the human experience and the inescapable persistence of grief.
Journal Entries:
Day One: 3/27/16
I have the bag on by noon. I designed the straps so they could be shortened shall a friend decide to make the pack more comfortable. For now, the mass sits on my lower back. The weight is bearable, coming in somewhere under 10 pounds.
I had not anticipated the sound of the clay bones as they scrape against each other. I'm curious as to what musings may come of this feedback.
For the most part, my daily activities have gone unencumbered. The first few hours of the performance tempted me to instinctively remove the pack, much like I would a purse I’d been carrying from place to place.
Driving is more difficult as I must accompany the pack while sitting. This adds a physical strain and puts pressure on a sensitive area of my back. My imagination has already led me to predict the broken spine or series of cracked ribs that could result shall I ever become rear-ended.
I use the bathroom while wearing the pack. I have not yet decided how to approach bathing. I suppose the morning will provide an answer.
As the day wears on, my back becomes tired from the additional weight. Through a few layers of clothes I can feel the straps digging into my shoulders. Alex calls this blanching. All I know is that it’s raw and it hurts.
I appreciate that the bones make their presence known through their sound. Shall the shifting weight of them ever become nuanced, their singing will serve as a reminder. To me, this compares to grief in that there are environmental reminders of the loss. There is also the physical toll on the body. The emotional sensations of grief, loss, and depression can accumulate in the cells of the body causing one to carry themselves differently and suffer a variety of physical ailments.
I felt the need to nap today and could only do so with the bag on top my chest. I want to carry the weight as much as possible each day as a means to fully embrace the grief and the physicality that I have associated with the life of my brother. As I must sleep on my back, the only way to do this would be to hold it on my chest. Here, the weight was just atop my heart center. To keep the bones from noisily shifting I had to hold them close by laying a hand upon them. Despite the awkwardness of the hard, cold bones, the embrace was quite lovely and comforting.
I felt that I held the bones much in the same way I held the person I had become attached to. The embrace of the bag carried the same sweetness and sentimental feelings of an embrace I would have shared with the individual who inspired this project.
The weight of the attachment to a physical form. Abinevesah. It’s real. Not healthy. But, very human.
I have the bag on by noon. I designed the straps so they could be shortened shall a friend decide to make the pack more comfortable. For now, the mass sits on my lower back. The weight is bearable, coming in somewhere under 10 pounds.
I had not anticipated the sound of the clay bones as they scrape against each other. I'm curious as to what musings may come of this feedback.
For the most part, my daily activities have gone unencumbered. The first few hours of the performance tempted me to instinctively remove the pack, much like I would a purse I’d been carrying from place to place.
Driving is more difficult as I must accompany the pack while sitting. This adds a physical strain and puts pressure on a sensitive area of my back. My imagination has already led me to predict the broken spine or series of cracked ribs that could result shall I ever become rear-ended.
I use the bathroom while wearing the pack. I have not yet decided how to approach bathing. I suppose the morning will provide an answer.
As the day wears on, my back becomes tired from the additional weight. Through a few layers of clothes I can feel the straps digging into my shoulders. Alex calls this blanching. All I know is that it’s raw and it hurts.
I appreciate that the bones make their presence known through their sound. Shall the shifting weight of them ever become nuanced, their singing will serve as a reminder. To me, this compares to grief in that there are environmental reminders of the loss. There is also the physical toll on the body. The emotional sensations of grief, loss, and depression can accumulate in the cells of the body causing one to carry themselves differently and suffer a variety of physical ailments.
I felt the need to nap today and could only do so with the bag on top my chest. I want to carry the weight as much as possible each day as a means to fully embrace the grief and the physicality that I have associated with the life of my brother. As I must sleep on my back, the only way to do this would be to hold it on my chest. Here, the weight was just atop my heart center. To keep the bones from noisily shifting I had to hold them close by laying a hand upon them. Despite the awkwardness of the hard, cold bones, the embrace was quite lovely and comforting.
I felt that I held the bones much in the same way I held the person I had become attached to. The embrace of the bag carried the same sweetness and sentimental feelings of an embrace I would have shared with the individual who inspired this project.
The weight of the attachment to a physical form. Abinevesah. It’s real. Not healthy. But, very human.
Day Two: 3/28/16
I abandon the grief to take a shower. Maybe it was a mistake. How would this affect the project? Maybe it was a realistic representation of the mind's distraction with daily tasks in how we forget problems when focused. It is waiting for me when I return.
It's my first day wearing the bag at work. Students are interested in the project and asking questions. I invite their involvement by helping take pictures. A sense of vulnerability arises as I realize I won't be able to document the work myself, leaving this incredibly important aspect of the project in the untrained hands of others.
The bag becomes burdensome by the middle of the day. My back is beginning to hurt from the straps and the rubbing of the bones on my spine. A kink in my neck develops by the end of the day.
I walk the dog with the accompaniment of sound.
Later, yoga is attempted. It's incredibly burdensome. I'm off balance. The session is cut very short.
I abandon the grief to take a shower. Maybe it was a mistake. How would this affect the project? Maybe it was a realistic representation of the mind's distraction with daily tasks in how we forget problems when focused. It is waiting for me when I return.
It's my first day wearing the bag at work. Students are interested in the project and asking questions. I invite their involvement by helping take pictures. A sense of vulnerability arises as I realize I won't be able to document the work myself, leaving this incredibly important aspect of the project in the untrained hands of others.
The bag becomes burdensome by the middle of the day. My back is beginning to hurt from the straps and the rubbing of the bones on my spine. A kink in my neck develops by the end of the day.
I walk the dog with the accompaniment of sound.
Later, yoga is attempted. It's incredibly burdensome. I'm off balance. The session is cut very short.
Day 3: 3/29/16
My back hurts more. There's severe pinching behind my shoulder blades.
More students are interested in the work and are asking questions. A sense of connection emerges as people share their losses.
I run into a friend at the grocery store. He helps hold the straps off my shoulders. This is the first friend intervention. It's also the first time in public outside of work.
I'm looking forward to going to bed to escape the misery of the pack.
Sitting provides me great relief, standing is painful.
I'm still considering how to shower in the morning.
Undressing becomes slow and arduous.
I'm looking forward to laying down.
My back hurts more. There's severe pinching behind my shoulder blades.
More students are interested in the work and are asking questions. A sense of connection emerges as people share their losses.
I run into a friend at the grocery store. He helps hold the straps off my shoulders. This is the first friend intervention. It's also the first time in public outside of work.
I'm looking forward to going to bed to escape the misery of the pack.
Sitting provides me great relief, standing is painful.
I'm still considering how to shower in the morning.
Undressing becomes slow and arduous.
I'm looking forward to laying down.
Day 4: 3/30/16
I shower while holding the bones. It's difficult.
I keep the bag on while getting dressed. It's not removed to change shirts; I alter the shoulder the bag is be on while shimmying out of one sleeve and into another. The accommodations take extra time and nearly make me late for work.
I realize that my preoccupation with the bag caused me to lose my wallet. I cancel all my credit cards and later find it at home.
Colleagues are now sharing their stories of loss.
The sores are getting worse and sharp edges continue to rub against my spine. My shoulders become much more sensitive from the weight. Enormous knots build up under the right shoulder blade. A colleague provides a brief respite by pressing into knots, trying to break them up.
Driving becomes less of a hardship.
I go out in public, aware of the ways in which the bones could be received. No flak or questions arise from anyone, though I'm certain the sound makes their presence known if the faint outline of them doesn't.
I find ways to stretch at home while holding the bones elsewhere on my body. The relief is incredible. Here, I discover stiffness on the front side of my shoulders and the extent of the knots. It's surprising that preexisting back spasms aren't agitated. My roommate helps me stretch out. It's nice to receive support and definitely helps alleviate the physical response to carrying the pack.
I sleep again with the bones on my chest. The pressure on the heart space feels parallel to the heaviness of depression. Though I've been doing this during the entire performance, the bones feel heavier this day than usual. It's hard to shift and make the adjustments necessary for a comfortable night's sleep.
I shower while holding the bones. It's difficult.
I keep the bag on while getting dressed. It's not removed to change shirts; I alter the shoulder the bag is be on while shimmying out of one sleeve and into another. The accommodations take extra time and nearly make me late for work.
I realize that my preoccupation with the bag caused me to lose my wallet. I cancel all my credit cards and later find it at home.
Colleagues are now sharing their stories of loss.
The sores are getting worse and sharp edges continue to rub against my spine. My shoulders become much more sensitive from the weight. Enormous knots build up under the right shoulder blade. A colleague provides a brief respite by pressing into knots, trying to break them up.
Driving becomes less of a hardship.
I go out in public, aware of the ways in which the bones could be received. No flak or questions arise from anyone, though I'm certain the sound makes their presence known if the faint outline of them doesn't.
I find ways to stretch at home while holding the bones elsewhere on my body. The relief is incredible. Here, I discover stiffness on the front side of my shoulders and the extent of the knots. It's surprising that preexisting back spasms aren't agitated. My roommate helps me stretch out. It's nice to receive support and definitely helps alleviate the physical response to carrying the pack.
I sleep again with the bones on my chest. The pressure on the heart space feels parallel to the heaviness of depression. Though I've been doing this during the entire performance, the bones feel heavier this day than usual. It's hard to shift and make the adjustments necessary for a comfortable night's sleep.
Day 5: 3/31/16
The bag is heavy.
I've lost my wallet for the second time in two days. This is not at all usual.
A friend offers support by holding the bag. It lasts only a few minutes, but feels incredible.
I'm getting used to the weight, but still can’t play with Sam the way I used to. I feel guilty and incompetent.
The bones are breaking and becoming more comfortable.
I'm curious of the weight and if it can be measured.
I learn of the timely alignment of the performance with anniversaries of several losses experienced by close friends and colleagues. Apparently, spring is the time to die.
No comments in public are made.
The bag is heavy.
I've lost my wallet for the second time in two days. This is not at all usual.
A friend offers support by holding the bag. It lasts only a few minutes, but feels incredible.
I'm getting used to the weight, but still can’t play with Sam the way I used to. I feel guilty and incompetent.
The bones are breaking and becoming more comfortable.
I'm curious of the weight and if it can be measured.
I learn of the timely alignment of the performance with anniversaries of several losses experienced by close friends and colleagues. Apparently, spring is the time to die.
No comments in public are made.
Day 6: 4/1/16
The bag is worn under a hoodie for comfort and convenience. The sweatshirt somewhat disguises the bag, making it much less apparent that I'm carrying the weight. It also muffles the sound. This is so similar to our hidden pains.
I'm getting used to the burden and almost don't notice it. Other times, it’s very apparent that I need to sit down or find a way to lighten the load.
A dear friend comes over and massages my back and shoulders. He intervenes by placing a pillow under the heavy bag. It's the softest thing I've ever felt. He helps accommodate the bag by moving it around and holding it so I could relax comfortably. Once again, the relief is incredible. I have a hard time telling how much weight I'm carrying until it has been lifted.
A girl friend also visits and helps accommodate the bag. I sleep with it on my chest again. It's heavy and falls to the side while I'm sleeping. I'm not sure if it's a conscious move in the night or happenstance.
The bag is worn under a hoodie for comfort and convenience. The sweatshirt somewhat disguises the bag, making it much less apparent that I'm carrying the weight. It also muffles the sound. This is so similar to our hidden pains.
I'm getting used to the burden and almost don't notice it. Other times, it’s very apparent that I need to sit down or find a way to lighten the load.
A dear friend comes over and massages my back and shoulders. He intervenes by placing a pillow under the heavy bag. It's the softest thing I've ever felt. He helps accommodate the bag by moving it around and holding it so I could relax comfortably. Once again, the relief is incredible. I have a hard time telling how much weight I'm carrying until it has been lifted.
A girl friend also visits and helps accommodate the bag. I sleep with it on my chest again. It's heavy and falls to the side while I'm sleeping. I'm not sure if it's a conscious move in the night or happenstance.
Day 7: 4/2/16
It's the last day of the performance and I’m excited. I take a full shower wearing the bag today. It's actually much less inconvenient than anticipated. I mow the lawn wearing the pack. It seems lighter knowing that I’ll soon be losing it. This is in stark contrast to emotional grief as there’s not a determined end to the experience.
There's an interesting relationship between vulnerability and connection. I'm very publicly exposing my struggle while relying on others for physical support and documentation of the project. It's so important, but completely out of my control. It's become a community effort involving loved ones and acquaintances. I know that I am loved and cared for. I don’t know that I’d feel this closeness had I not shared my pain. I'm feeling so much love right now.
My friends want to carry my weight by taking the bag. I go out and have a blast but still have to accommodate the grief. I'm getting used to its presence to the point that I sometimes forget that its there until someone lifts it.
Dancing is so necessary and so strenuous. The bones continue to break providing more comfort as the pack better conforms to the shape of my back.
The bag shows signs of wear.
It's the last day of the performance and I’m excited. I take a full shower wearing the bag today. It's actually much less inconvenient than anticipated. I mow the lawn wearing the pack. It seems lighter knowing that I’ll soon be losing it. This is in stark contrast to emotional grief as there’s not a determined end to the experience.
There's an interesting relationship between vulnerability and connection. I'm very publicly exposing my struggle while relying on others for physical support and documentation of the project. It's so important, but completely out of my control. It's become a community effort involving loved ones and acquaintances. I know that I am loved and cared for. I don’t know that I’d feel this closeness had I not shared my pain. I'm feeling so much love right now.
My friends want to carry my weight by taking the bag. I go out and have a blast but still have to accommodate the grief. I'm getting used to its presence to the point that I sometimes forget that its there until someone lifts it.
Dancing is so necessary and so strenuous. The bones continue to break providing more comfort as the pack better conforms to the shape of my back.
The bag shows signs of wear.
Day 8: 4/3/16
I wake up early to lay the bones to rest. I've chosen a peaceful setting that could be revisited. It takes about an hour and a half to get there. I appreciate the distance as it allows time to sit with the grief before letting it go. The space for reflection is appreciated.
I get to my friend's property and they inform me of their recent bereavement and adjustments to the loss. The relatedness is comforting and reinforces the universal nature of this human experience.
We decide to weigh the bag. It's a little over six pounds and doesn’t seem like much..until it's on again.
I dig a sufficient hole and study the bones before placing them in the ground. I’m interested in the extent of their disrepair. Looking at the skull, I meet my grief. There’s a relationship here. It's a teacher and I'm its student. I'm aware the the burial isn't going to cease its existence. I thank the skull, place it in the bag and bury it.
It feels funereal.
The relief I feel after taking off the bag is incomparable. I feel so light; like I'm floating. To think that this is how I usually carry myself and it's totally unbeknownst otherwise.
I am so happy to be able to do the things I love again. Yoga, running, walking, everything can be done more comfortably.
A memory of the weight remains in the form of substantial knots under my shoulder blades, a subtle soreness in my lower back and a stiffened neck. This physical memory serves as a reminder of the struggle, if not serving as a reincarnation of it. Likely, it will fade and my body will return to near normalcy. I may carry on with a greater sense of ease, however, the grief that the bones represent will always be a part of my life. This is not something I can choose to disregard, rather it's a persistent and complex experience that casually remains just below the surface.
I wake up early to lay the bones to rest. I've chosen a peaceful setting that could be revisited. It takes about an hour and a half to get there. I appreciate the distance as it allows time to sit with the grief before letting it go. The space for reflection is appreciated.
I get to my friend's property and they inform me of their recent bereavement and adjustments to the loss. The relatedness is comforting and reinforces the universal nature of this human experience.
We decide to weigh the bag. It's a little over six pounds and doesn’t seem like much..until it's on again.
I dig a sufficient hole and study the bones before placing them in the ground. I’m interested in the extent of their disrepair. Looking at the skull, I meet my grief. There’s a relationship here. It's a teacher and I'm its student. I'm aware the the burial isn't going to cease its existence. I thank the skull, place it in the bag and bury it.
It feels funereal.
The relief I feel after taking off the bag is incomparable. I feel so light; like I'm floating. To think that this is how I usually carry myself and it's totally unbeknownst otherwise.
I am so happy to be able to do the things I love again. Yoga, running, walking, everything can be done more comfortably.
A memory of the weight remains in the form of substantial knots under my shoulder blades, a subtle soreness in my lower back and a stiffened neck. This physical memory serves as a reminder of the struggle, if not serving as a reincarnation of it. Likely, it will fade and my body will return to near normalcy. I may carry on with a greater sense of ease, however, the grief that the bones represent will always be a part of my life. This is not something I can choose to disregard, rather it's a persistent and complex experience that casually remains just below the surface.
