Two Little Birds

Trying to dig to the route of why decay, overgrowth, and loss is an importance in my work I came to a halting discovery/ remembrance of the story 'Two Little Birds'. It was a poem my mom used to sing to us kids when we were little. Specifically when we were swimming. She would sit us on her lap and sing "Two little birds sitting on a hill. One named Jack. One named Jill. Fly away Jack. Fly away Jill. Come back Jack. Come back Jill," and we would swim off her lap and back to her for hours in the pool. 

(picture: my roommates memory of 'Two Little Birds') 

The importance of this is to this day I have a fear of being abandoned, and it may have something to do with my upbringing. I relied on others. I did not speak for the first few years of my life, because my brother would do all the talking for me. He knew what I wanted and would either ask or get it for me. I did not have to worry about communication, until our mother put a stop to the action. 

This need to follow others is something I do not want to do. I want to be able to rely on myself, yet I feel my upbringing may have hindered my ability to do this successfully. The two little birds allowed me to see at a young age that following was ok. When it should have been leaving is ok... mom is there for you to swim, fly, or run back to. I miss interpret this though. Jack fly away and Jill must follow. Jack comes back and so must Jill.

Other important discoveries about the connection to decaying is that of my body... well in some light is decaying. I no longer can smell, I have a weak pallet for taste, and my vision is getting bad. This worries me on a level. More so it depresses me now. I feel the world has some secret code that I cannot crack about smell. I used to know the formula, but no longer do. That is what disappoints me. If I loose another sense I will soon forget what food tastes like. Just like how I have forgotten what things smell like. That is why texture is so important in food and in my art work. I can still feel. That one is not going away, not yet at least. 

The most important decaying discovery is that of my old home. It started to go down hill when drug busts would happen in the neighborhood about three times a year (and that is being generous, and it was a small block). Then, when it came time to move out we rented from the buyer (our next door neighbor), so I could finish my senior year at the high school I was attending. The decay hit home, literally. The new owner would build a home right in our back yard. Invading my safety zone. Changing the layout of my childhood memories. The tree we used to sit on and eat oranges would no longer be there. The never used picnic table would lay in some dump somewhere, never to be used. The chicken coop would no longer have the potential of housing chickens, because the new owner built a house atop all these memories and future possibilities. Now when I go home it is usually just me going home. All siblings are grown and have different schedules. Making even holidays hard for us to come together because of jobs and responsibilities.

Summery... Decay is important because it is what I know. It is what I have to try to rebuild and what I have to try to accept everyday. Decay is an ending and a beginning. Decay is subtracting and a new. Decay is my muse.