Why eggs you ask, my kind and naive Molly? For those that forgot, she is the sheer purpose of this blog.
Why not eggs?
For some reason, I enjoy the absurdity of random eggs all over my blog. It just happened. A month before writing my first blog post, I had a mandatory class trip to the SCAD Museum. And I almost ran over an egg that was strategically placed on the tiled floor. It led me to an exhibition that just hit me. I later found out the exhibition was created by Christopher Chiappa called, "The Amazing Egg."
Eggs, huevos, cojones (Yes, I do have some). I was oddly drawn. Hooked. There was a simplicity to the egg form paired with the grandiose composition that made me think this is fucking weird and I love it. In other words, I enjoy imagining your puzzled faces when you try to figure out, what's with the eggs?
Four years in art school and the only movement that really walked away with me (no pun intended) was the Dada movement. It was purely nonsensical to the extent of whimsy. However, everyone making the art was obnoxiously serious about it. They stuck by their art regardless of how pointless and absurd it may be because for them it reflected life itself. After another four mandatory visits to the Museum, I started thinking, why eggs?
Why am I so drawn to these motherfucking eggs? Is it because in many cultures, it is a symbol of life and fertility? Maybe. Sure, that's a fancy answer. Is it because it represents rebirth and the new year? If that makes you feel better than okay. Really, it's because I enjoy how shapeless an egg is when you crack it. Sometimes I feel like I'm an egg-like my life is an egg. Disabled people don't have this armor you call muscle keeping us together, giving us the idealistic form or strength. We are raw and shapeless, just like the albumen of an egg-(That's the egg white, I did my research on egg anatomy thank you very much) running down surfaces, trying to figure out what the hell to do. Meanwhile, we manage to keep our most precious parts in tip-top shape. The yolk, if you will, is always in the center. Fitly round, maybe oval (We're not perfect). But it's there, keeping its shit together.
My Dad used to eat vowels and mash words together when he spoke really fast. As a kid, he used to call me "chicken guts" in Spanish, but for twelve years I didn't realize it. To me, it was "tripapollo" when what he was trying to say was "tripa de pollo." I was at lunch, my friends were discussing all the weird nicknames they've heard. And my ridiculous nerdy loud mouth uttered the words, "My dad calls me..." That's when I finally put together that son of a gun had been calling me chicken guts the entire time...sorry, I'm still just very petty about it.
Puerto Ricans say weird shit. For example, when we felt someone was useless, we'd say, "You can't even flip a fried egg." This usually referred to women because, well, we used to be sexist. And women were supposed to be in the kitchen. Now, let's think about this in the context of how I would be valued. If we apply this theory I-as a disabled person-cannot flip a fried egg. Hell, I'd be surprised if I could lift the spatula. So that would classify me as useless. Now, let's add my womanhood to the mix with the fact that I can't cook eggs. Let's face it, I can't cook period. Once again, this would classify me as useless or maybe even an unfit wife.
This thought hit me as I waited for one of the professors to show up for the field trip, staring at the wall with all the eggs. I thought about how one single egg would just be a mushy disgusting splatter on the wall but how three thousand eggs, thirty thousand eggs, changed my whole perspective of what an egg stood for and represented. One disabled person is just a disabled person. But how would we see three thousand disabled people that came together and started supporting themselves as they came forward with their stories? They wouldn't just be disabled people but individuals with complex pasts, presents, and hopefully shining futures. It would be easy to see how thirty thousand disabled people could change the image and stigma of what being disabled represents. We are not useless.
So that's why eggs...start to get used to it because they are sticking around.