AJ Alanson Author

Before I even started “Chipped Away,” I saw “Sucker Punched” complete and bleeding in front of me. Somehow, “Chipped” stepped in front of “Punched” but not because she craved the spotlight. More as Punched’s protector and in much the same way as I step in front of my daughter.

Chipped has a longer history, a woman whose freedom’s have been won and lost over a lifetime. A woman pulling pieces of herself back – but not as fast as she’s being chipped away. And Chipped is graceful, ladylike, maternal. Easy to love. A safe target. Not so with Punched, a young, strong woman, who is under absurd attack and reacting viscerally.

Anyway, that’s what I told myself…

But the truth of Sucker Punched drives slivers further under my fingernails each time I sit down to build her. It’s not comfortable to dig a hole through her abdomen or model the blood spray behind her, but that’s not what bothers me. The itchy reality is that Punched is dredging up all of the indoctrination ingrained in me, then gluing it all over her tiny frame.

Because she’s young, strong, and doesn’t know her place even after her guts are torn out, I want to warn her even as she fights back. Stop her, because this isn’t acceptable – she won’t be palatable.

Punched doesn’t listen. She’s pissed, vengeful, and taking front-facing action instead of slinking around in the shadows with a blowgun, or swimming under the boat and drilling holes. She’s not pushing up her bra, flipping her hair, or batting her eyes. Women are poisoners, right? Not MMA fighters. It’s simply unladylike.

I struggle with my inner voice while pulling her knees together. “Are her legs too far apart? Does she seem vulgar?” Criminently! The poor girl is just planting her feet to brace against a brutal, surprise attack on her rights, her dignity, her competence. And I’m worried the quarter dropped.

Are her breasts too large, too small, too obvious? Because, you know, that’s what identifies her as a woman. Identifies her… Good grief! That’s a whole other post.

Hmmm… I scrutinize her appearance as I peel the super glued wood chips from my fingers. Her legs are so powerful, her shoulders are wide, her arms, muscular. Is she not feminine enough? Does she even read as a woman? I need input.

A fellow artist offers feedback. “It’ll be better when she has hair. Great hair covers a whole multitude of sins.” My writing partner notes, “Chipped has wider hips. More womanly.” Another observer points out that if she’s been sucker punched, she should be doubled over, holding her gut, falling backward, not digging in her heels while reaching out for her attacker’s throat. None of them are wrong – just making her point.

But the most insidious, destructive, dismantling, disintegrating speech surrounds her face – and it comes from me. “Leave the rest rough, suggested, imperfect. You can hide a lot of failures if she has a pretty face.”

Ugh. Makes me cry.

I hate this in myself so much, sometimes I can’t face her. I know that if she isn’t beautiful enough, no one will look at her twice, listen to her struggle, or care for her plight. How much credence do I give this stupidity? How do I balance this transactional game in order to give her a chance to speak? Are not strength, self respect, and authenticity beautiful? (Is not the sheer feat of assembling muscles over bones out of wood chips and sawdust message enough?)

And this is the ugliness where the world of art and the world of commentary cross over. Her “attractiveness” burnishes MY reputation as an artist. I need this…this…arm candy. My work must serve me, elevate me, explain me as I, too, appropriate her fight, her resolve, or no one will listen to me. Me! Me! Me! And that right there is everything making me sick right now in the political landscape. But I digress.

Each night, after my time in the writing studio, a little work on my sound studio, and puttering in my gardens, I sit down at my art table and plunge into this swirling chaos of dogma versus change. I’ve shed so many tears over both “Chipped Away” and “Sucker Punched” that I don’t know if I can stand in front of “Cornered,” the third sculpture in this series, and dig through these entrails again. It stinks and in so many ways and for so many reasons, I’m sick of crying.

So, on a lighter note, the video below shows the delicate, if imprecise, work of building one of these wooden sculptures, “Sucker Punched.” If you come closer, turn up the volume, and squint, you can almost hear the abrasive alarm every time I touch the side with the tweezers. “Like” if you get the reference! (Hint: you might not be old enough.) Subscribe to catch her debut. Scroll backward to see her sister, “Chipped Away,” and of course, I love feedback so feel free to comment.