And So It Goes: When you ignore the warning signs.
I wrote in my last post that with the lead up to my debut solo exhibition @ Sol Gallery (see my events page for more details), my sleep, had become an existential exercise in futility.
My body had been sending me alarms for months, which I had spoken with my counsellor about, but had done naught else to remedy the situation. At the end of the blog, I asked “Am I following the right path for long-term sustainability?” The short answer, dear readers, is “No!”
I was brought up by a military man, the first (and only) of his family who went to University. He thought this was the pinnacle - that you worked hard and achieved greatness - of life. He drove this home to me most weeks, whether it be in my academic endeavours, or my many sporting achievements. When I quit competitive sport in my teens, I was lying when I said, “it was too competitive, I was no longer in love with it”. The reality was, I didn’t want to run (soccer, softball, and cricket - and basketball, would you believe?!) because my chest was growing quite large and moving “inappropriately”. This was the deep-seated body dysmorphia I am still recovering from, even 13 years after chest surgery. When I quit, my father saw it as a failure. That I wasn’t trying enough, that the whole point to life was to be competitive. “Head down, bum up.” How often did he say this phrase to me? How ingrained it is within me still. Then the on-set of Capitalist 90’s hit, and, well, we all know how that is turning out.
On the other side there is my ma. A strong woman with many flaws. After she divorced my abusive father her social anxieties and self-loathing (that I argue were caused by my father) increased little by little and literally fed her to the point where she can barely move, and now falls constantly when she does. She lives in a rough part of the Northern suburbs an hour out of Adelaide and rarely leaves her house due to the sickening insults the neighbourhood teens heap on her. This is probably also why she refuses to use her mobility aids. I see her and do not want to be her. I drive myself to work out often with my support team, eat clean as often as possible, and constantly monitor for signs I’m “doing it wrong”.
So, working myself into the ground is an endemic coding deep within my DNA. I have asked my counsellor how one, with such an upbringing, stops working/giving at 110%? Ten years ago, when my body and mind literally broke directly caused due to the stresses of overworking and a very large insurance company who did little to help, I vowed I would slow down. For a long time, I did.
Little by little, however, I forget I have these acquired disabilities that need to be nurtured and my body must be listened to when it speaks up. My body is (and probably always has been) quite vocal when it needs extra assistance. I have tried, in the past ten years, to find the work/life balance I plead to all my friends to find. I think currently, I am failing. I am not alone.
The more I immerse myself within the art community, the more stories I hear of artists burning out - before they are 30 - or in their first five years of being in the industry. This is because the hustle is real. You hustle to have a voice. Then if you have a voice, you hustle to keep it; to grow it; constantly hustling. We hustle today, because tomorrow we are not guaranteed an income (and creating art is actually more expensive than you would think!).
If there was a minimum wage for artists, as the Greens Party here in Australia have weakly floated a few times, then yes, we would still be poor - but we could allow ourselves more easily to occasionally take breaks. Those of us living with disability would more often than not, stop of our own accord, before our bodies forced us to stop!
Needless to say, I have been laid up in bed with exhaustion and flu for ten days. My schedule has been rearranged, then rearranged some more as I try and keep hustling. Yesterday I masked up and took my artworks to the gallery for installation. Today I am off to my GP for a necessary health check as my body falls apart some more. I tell myself that I must be better for Thursday, so I force myself to rest, but still struggle to sleep.
Human beings are complicated. Human beings with disability, more so, particularly when those disabilities are largely invisible and can be oft times ignored. Whilst I am sure I have long shed my internalised ableism; I still must contend with and unlearn my conditioned work hard coding. I need to remind myself that stopping for an hour to play a computer game (I only play Civilisation VI, for those who want to know, maybe occasionally Wii monopoly or Wii sports – yes, I still have and use a Wii), is not a failure. Stopping is a success. Stopping IS a success. Stopping is a SUCCESS. Stopping is a success because it will increase both my longevity and my happiness. Just STOP!
At the end of every blog, I ask a question. This time I am not going to. This time I am simply going to submit the blog and go back to bed until I must go to my GP appointment. Rest well folx, and for the love of all things holy – S.T.O.P.
T.Leigh
Official flyer to Teague Leigh’s debut solo exhibition “The Reclamation of Terra”, proudly supported by Pride Foundation Australia, at Sol Gallery, Thursday 7th September @ 6pm. On the left is a canvas painted in hues of textured acrylic paint. In the middle is a landscape photograph of a yellow sand dune with one lonely tree to the left side and deep blue sky above. This central image is repeated in collage underneath in three chopped up lines. Above the central image are the colours of the progressive pride flag in wavy lines leading to the top left corner. On the right of the flyer it is black with the details of the exhibition.
