Closing the Circuit

detail, “self portrait”, acrylic on wood, approx. 1999

Yesterday I was thinking the words “I missed my chance to say I love you.” This message was accompanied by a wave of emotion. The wave was unexpected and uncomfortable and composed of sadness, grief and despair. The words in my head were paired with a meaning that the “missing” was for something or someone outside of myself. This longing and the emotions are all felt in my body (kind of like being in contact with an actual wave or like having a taut string attached to your heart). They are real and easier to define than the meaning of “why do I feel this?”

I understand this meaning to be mutable. There is no one I am desperately missing in the present, thankfully, so I know this longing is from the past. Using my imagination I can think of myself as a young child wanting to hear the very same words, “I love you,” repeated to her like a mantra. This practice of imagining is part of a process I’ll call “closing the circuit.”

Yesterday I came across these old self portraits while decluttering the house—and was delighted to find a piece of my past documented in this way. These were painted 25 years ago. The red lines look raw to me and full of energy, like circuitry. I remember feeling how my circuits back then were fried. Too many surges, or waves, all at once. These are scans of small snapshots of the original paintings (acrylic on paper and wood, location unknown).