In my first semester of college, I was able to create a collection I am so proud of. it is vulnerable, uncomfortable, but so healing.
This is…
“Brain Cancer”
Cancer has been something I have always feared. The way it can completely take over, take full control over someone, and in some cases end them. It doesn’t matter how old, how healthy, or how active you are, not of it matters. Cancer can come in many different shapes and sizes and each have their own life long lasting effects.
Let’s start from the beginning:
My mom began to struggle to find her balance and couldn’t see very well out of one eye, so she went to the doctor.
My mom was diagnosed with brain cancer almost six years ago. The tumor sits in the center of her brain, the most unfortunate spot imaginable. The first piece is named “Center.” An 8x8inch pencil drawing done on drawing board. The subjects consist of a cancer cell in the center of brain tissue around it. I explored this idea in a previous painting called “Cancer Kid” that I made my senior year of high school. To start off this collection, I wanted to bring the focus more towards how there is no way to cut it out, no real cure to this cancer.
I was first told my mom had cancer in the kitchen of my childhood home. I was sitting in the rocking chair as my parents tell me this and tears came flooding. From this moment on, my world felt like it shattered around me. I created this idea by drawing thick/thin cracks in the walls around the chair my younger self is sitting in. Six year ago my backyard did not have the deck that you can see to the right; however, I referenced a photo from current day to highlight that even now, I am reminded of this moment when I sit in this chair. I did not add the kitchen table that sits in the middle of this room because in this moment, it felt empty. Just me in this chair and my world shattering around me. This piece is an 11x9 inch pencil drawing done on drawing board called “Shattering”.
She started chemo and radiation therapy. These possible solutions stopped the cancer from growing. I don’t remember the exact year it did, and although the fact it stopped growing is amazing, the side effects only seemed to worsen. My family’s Christmas tradition, growing up, was going to the Macy’s Walnut Room in Chicago. I did not value that time as much as I should have. I was ignorant and full of anger, especially in 2014. This was the first year my mom began to walk with a cane and wear an eye patch to help her balance. We hoped these remedies would help, but rather, it went way deeper than that. This was the last time my family went to the Walnut Room before the side effects started affecting everything. As I gathered family photos to possibly reference in this collection, I did not realize how important this tradition was. I miss this tradition. I challenged myself to not only draw my mother, but the Walnut Room. I struggle with backgrounds because, truthfully, I get lazy or do not consider it before starting the subject; however, with this drawing I knew I had to create “The Walnut Room” to keep this tradition alive, as much as it can be. This is an 18x13 inch pencil drawing done on drawing board.
When my mom was first diagnosed I did not want to tell anyone. It was too painful to talk about, too much to bring up, but I went to a small Catholic school, so my teachers knew and slowly my 15 other classmates started to know. It wasn’t something I could hide as my mother started treatment and was not able to drive. I never had the choice of whether to tell anyone or not, it felt like everyone found out from someone else. In some ways it was comforting to not have to tell, but there were times where I wish I had to choice to tell someone. Talking about my mom’s cancer was hard. I never wanted anyone to look at me lesser than just because my mom had cancer. I never wanted people to treat me different. That’s why when I went to high school, filled with so many more people, I chose to not tell many. Telling someone about my mom meant I had a lot of trust in them. The first person I had ever told about my mom is not in my life anymore, but that’s not important. I started telling my closest friends during my Junior year. I constantly felt a barrier between me and them. It felt like our friendship couldn’t move forward or strengthen because they didn’t know this big chunk of who I am. I somehow found the courage to tell them. From that moment on I felt so much more relief. I learned that I really can’t grow a deep-rooted friendship without them knowing this part of me. As much as I still believe that’s true, I haven’t told every one of my best friends. I haven’t felt the need to because I am taking my time trying to find the right way to word it, and this collection is what I have been dreaming of creating. (I’ll continue this story at the end) This is a 10x10 inch pencil drawing done on drawing board called “Can’t Tell”.
Before my mom was put on any sort of treatment, they had to do a biopsy. This meant they had to cut open her head. I remember the moment so vividly, walking into the family room and looking down on my mother’s head after surgery. I began to fear looking at stitches after this. With this 10x10 inch oil and acrylic painting done on canvas I forced myself to stare at something that made me uncomfortable to gain the power back. I wanted to face this fear because of how vivid this memory is for me. This collection was “uncomfortable” to create because of how long I’ve kept it to myself. I wanted to show even the gruesome parts. This painting is called “Stitches”.
When my mom was first diagnosed they told her she had 60 months left to live. I think about this a lot. It’s a scary sentence to even type out. I was scared my mom wouldn’t make it to see my 8th grade graduation, but she got to see it. I am so happy she got to see me in my gold cap and gown. My mom is the strongest person I have ever met. Not only did she see me graduate 8th grade, she got to see my high school graduation, in a bright orange cap and gown, and see me start college at my dream school in Chicago. I am grateful for this everyday. This is a 10x10 inch acrylic on canvas painting called “60 Months”
Choosing to live on-campus for college was hard. It had become routine how I helped my mom. When I was home, I would help her with her drinks, feeding her, etc… My dad and brother would be at work, so it was my responsibly. As the day to move to school grew closer and closer, I feared what would happen if I wasn’t there. It felt like if I left, everything would fall apart. I felt tied to staying home. I created that idea from the red string tied around a house in the corner and the subject’s wrists. The subject is reaching out for the city. I knew the city is where I was meant to be in order to grow. Although the leaving was and still is hard, I have to do what is best for me. I know I am able to come home at anytime, so I find some sort of peace in that. Some days are harder than others, but I know it will be okay. This is a 14x11 inch oil and acrylic painting on canvas called “Can’t Move On”.
This collection may seem sad at first glance, but this has proven how much I have grown as an individual. (Continuing from before) I never wanted anyone to know about my mom having cancer. It made me sick to my stomach having to talk about it out loud. I wanted to share this story before I graduated high school in May 2022, but I didn’t know the right way to portray what I was thinking. Finally, after over a year I finally found the right way. Challenging myself to make something that has made me uncomfortable for so long was emotionally draining, and more than anything terrifying. I drew most of these pieces in front of total strangers in my drawing class. Throughout the whole semester I was in disbelief I would have to present this collection to everyone. Talking about my mom and the healing process that came with it was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but I did it. I can say it with my whole chest I did it. There aren’t enough words to explain how proud I am for completing this collection. I feel as though I can grow even more as an artist because now you know this part of me.
Even though I completed sharing this story in front of strangers, I have been procrastinating writing this and sharing it with my friends and to you reading this because so many people are about to find out about a big part of my life. But here we are. Thank you for reading this far if you have. Thank you for listening to me.
-j.
