The night before I go into hospital to have my nipple cut off I make a series of paintings. I cover my nipple with paint and then use it like a brush.
Tomorrow my nipple is being cut off.
The perfect symmetry it provides my breast
will be replaced with a scar.
My nipple, a site of such strong sensation.
In response to emotion, sexual arousal, touch, temperature
it magically changes shape, colour, texture.
A barometer of my inner and outer world.
A constant reminder of my womanhood.
As I move forward
my nipples are the extremity of my phuysical boundary
like a cat’s whiskers
they are a radar
sensing the atmosphere ahead of me.
How do I celebrate my nipple?
Connect with the emotion of its loss?
I have a desire
to somehow retain its character
to allow it to make its mark,
to feel its physicality.
Like a paint brush
I move my paint somothered nipple
across the paper
making a series of abstract marks.
I immerse myself in nipple painting.
My nipples become tender
the abrasive movement across the paper
becomes more painful.
I paint slashes of red.
The pain shooting through my nipple
feels like a knife cut.
12th November 2008