Before I left for my post-accident flat, I decided to clear my wardrobe of all the garments I could no longer wear. I figured that it was a waste of time and space packing all those clothes and storing them when it is likely I will never feel comfortable wearing them again. Clothes are equivalent to memories. I've bought lots of things on holidays, for special occasions and for pure love of them. I'd had some items for approximately 10 years; some I'd had since Uni! Every May I trawl through my Summer items, pulling out dresses and tops to wear for that short but blissful English Summer, feeling as though I were greeting out friends.
So throwing out around 90% of what I owned was hard.
I did it quickly, rifling through the suitcases I'd shoved them in immediately after the accident when I couldn't bear the sight of them hanging in the wardrobe. I flung them onto the floor, barely looking.
Anything that couldn't be customised
with a lace body underneath was
chucked on the 'chuck' pile.
As my injuries span my chest and neck, nothing with any semblance of neckline could remain and the many sleeveless and strapless numbers went. That day I stocked nearly every charity shop in my town! I only kept two items that I couldn't bear to say goodbye to. I couldn't believe the pile and took pictures which I was only reminded of today....Today I decided to go to the Tate Modern for a wander and stopped dead at the installation 'Venus of the Rags.' This piece is meant to bring together classical art (in the form of Venus) and contemporary society (in the form of second hand clothes.) I instantly renamed it 'burn survivor edits wardrobe.' The figurine had her head resting tenderly on the bundles of clothes as if forced to part with them. It summed up exactly what I felt last month when undergoing the same process.
Most modern art takes the form of the bizarre and confusing but I felt an eerie connection with 'Venus of the Rags.'
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