Making the Mask

Work, Work, Work

I really enjoyed the process of making my mask after I switched over from a thick gauge wire (I was trying to use up my roommate's leftovers) to a thinner one. This project was not as tedious as the previous two (soap carving and paper stacking), which made for a very nice change in pace. Bending wire, wrapping it with tape, and eventually covering the whole form in a papier mâché-like concoction was very meditative and allowed me to reflect on the parts of my identity I was revealing with this mask. Initially I was a bit hesitant to do something related to depression and anxiety, as they are issues I try to keep to myself. "I'm fine, I'm fine," I say all the time, "just a little tired." I cover up the reality of my struggles to retain my privacy and avoid uncomfortable situations, but I also don't want the "outside world" to think there's something wrong with me - and therein lies the problem, doesn't it? The stigma attached to these conditions needs to be reassessed. I am not a monster, I just get a little sad sometimes. A little worried. Because I generally internalize my pain, making a mask about my condition was freeing but nonetheless frightening. I can't tell you how fast my heart was beating when I had to present my final solution to the class. Even then, I beat around the bush, giving into my fear. I did not say I was documenting my depression, rather that I get "heavy with sadness" throughout the day and how my picture progression documents this. Still, though, I think making this mask was a step in the right direction of being more open with others.

Preliminary Sketches

         

I explored many different ideas in my sketchbook. I was sort of obsessing over centipedes and millipedes that day because of a discussion we had in my postcolonial literature class that morning. I was convinced I wanted to do something that was lopsided and crawled down my back. I also wanted the piece to be interactive, so I came up with the idea that the centipede-like arms would close around me as my photographic "day" progressed.       

W.I.P. Pictures

I built my mask to lean heavily to one side, and created small bumps on the top of the head to signify those painful, ugly thoughts and emotions that surface throughout the day.

The nucleus of it all!

I tried on the mask to make sure everything fit well and was comfortable enough to wear while taking pictures. I also wanted to make sure that the back piece came down low enough/was proportionate with my body.

I then applied the glue and paper, creating a thin, skin-like covering over the whole mask. I was a bit worried that the paper would crack with the movement of the legs; in practice, it did a little bit, but I was actually quite surprised by the resilience of the papier mâché. 

A Final Explanation

Although my final pieces are in another post, I just wanted to take a moment to explain my choices and photographic series. As mentioned above, I created a mask that was top-heavy and had moving parts to indicate both my struggle to stay balanced and how the passage of time affects my balance. I tend to find myself getting heavier and heavier as the day goes on, which manifests not only mentally and emotionally, but also physically. I am sluggish, annoyed, tired. All I want to do is sleep. I chose to do a series of photographs to show this change over time. The mask is always with me, yes, but the little arms, receptors of negativity and sadness throughout the day, eventually close around me and pin me to my bed. I also wanted to show the smallness of my life, how during the semester I often find myself repeating the same unhealthy patterns over and over again. School. Work. Sleep. School. Work. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. The voyeuristic-like angles I used to photograph myself also speak to my belief that through glances, we see much more than we ever could by looking intently, closely. People change under scrutiny. We amend ourselves to be acceptable. But when we look for just a moment or watch secretly from afar, sometimes we see what's really there - the sadness in that girl's eyes or the worry in another person's knitted brow that disappear as soon as their friends approach.  

I decided to not end on the bed picture because I wanted to show that I still have some hope; I still have moments of intense clarity and beauty. The "dust" specs that gather and gather in my photographs until they completely clutter the final scene are nowhere to be found in the final picture. I am also outside, as opposed to the previous enclosed spaces. I can breathe out here. And while I'm still walking toward darkness, I'm illuminated, if only for a moment.   

   "I'm fine, just a little tired"