Mirrors

While Grannie was still alive I most often shared a bedroom with her.  My older brothers would occupy a second and my parents the third bedroom -- later with a baby or two.  I remember a time when I was at the cottage with Grannie and my older brothers.  I rushed in at dusk one evening to ask if I could stay out longer.  She grabbed me, held me close and said that I could stay out if I promised to go right to sleep and not watch her as she undressed.  Then she added in a menacing tone, "I seen you in the glass."

Those are the only words I remember Grannie speaking.  I've listened to my parents argue about whether or not she had a Scottish accent -- she'd come to Canada when she was 18 -- but I couldn't say.  I do know that those words terrified me.  I was supposed to be asleep by the time she came to bed but falling asleep was never easy.  I guess I was awake one night and watched transfixed by her enormous corset and pills washed down with sherry.  But now I had to worry as well that I might be a pervert -- since clearly that's what Grannie had seen.

A child pervert.  Doesn't seem possible except that it was, very possible in my case.  By then I'd had many nighttime experiences that I should never have had.  It would be easy to believe that it was all my fault.  Easy to believe I was a dirty, horrid, little girl.  And so it goes.  That's how it happens.  That's how it starts -- a lifetime of "low self-esteem."  Distorted body image.  Self-loathing ...

No surprise that I've never liked to see myself in mirrors.  I avoid them.  I didn't have one at home.  Only recently has it dawned on me that as a result I don't really know what I look like.  This feels odd to me and not right especially now when juxtaposed with art school.  I enjoy life drawing so much.  Surely I should be able as well to see myself?  So off I went to Canadian Tire and brought home a full-length mirror on the TTC.  I've tried drawing a few self-portraits but so far haven't managed much of a likeness.  I'll keep trying.