My next door neighbor, an orthopaedic surgeon, chimed over the fence "I just learned about an exhibition of orthopaedics in art and thought of you." He had seen a drawing I'd done about a knee condition that involved osteoarthritis.  Little did he know how much art I had that refers directly and metaphorically to my own musculoskeletal problems that have ranged from incapacitating to just plain frustrating.

The American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons had put out a Call for Entries to artists, children and surgeons all over the world.  Defining an orthopaedic condition as either a disease or condition that affects muscles, bones and/or joints (i.e. arthritis, osteoporosis, scoliosis, spinal cord injury or other spine/back conditions, cerebal palsy, amputation, spina bifida, broken bones, joint replacement, etc).  From this list of haunting problems, I qualified to enter with a 20 year history of spine/back conditions, bicep tendonitis and arthritis in the clavicular/shoulder joint of my painting arm.  The latter is now my most vulnerable point as it threatens to take my art life from me.

At first I felt pathetic even considering entering this juried show; then I got into it. They didn't just want slides of my art, they wanted to know the "impact of my orthopaedic condition on my art and life."  Clearly they had my attention. And so I wrote:

In 1981-82, when the herniated disc in my lower back presented itself as sciatic pain in my right leg and then spasms so tight and painful in my lower back that I could hardly move, my life was literally leveled.  In my prime, an accomplished artist, mother of two young children, recently re-married and beginning a new job in arts administration, I found myself confined to bed or lying on the floor. Back then, it took a while to get the diagnosis that finally led to surgery and recovery from sciatic pain and incapacitating spasm in my lower back.

When I laid hour upon hour, day upon day in pain and spasm, I learned to do relaxation and visualization exercises which wound their way into my art. 20 years later these techniques are still a part of my art and my approach to healing.

They also had asked us to select slides of specific artworks and describe the aspect of our condition illustrated by the piece. The painting I felt was the strongest reflection of the theme and the one where I had gone deepest, was one I created during menopause (1993) called SINGING THE BONES. I wrote:

At the core of my being is a weakness that I have learned to live with. My spinal column has betrayed me with pain and immobility in the past. While I'm now healthy, swim and do yoga regularly, problems continue to manifest in different areas moving up along the spinal column that effect what I can and can't do. I have a sense of irony that the underlying, indestructible anatomy of my body (that which remains in vertebraed creatures after all the rest decays) is also the source of my vulnerability.  As my body becomes transparent and I strip to my bones, I merge with the cosmos. I hug myself and lovingly embrace my frailty, my mortality, my courage.

At the last minute, I decided to enter a humorous piece ("Stretching the Boundaries") from my Fitness Scrolls Series.  Of course, that turned out to be the piece selected for the exhibition, not "Singing the Bones." Once again, I described the relationship to my "orthopaedic" condition:

In the early nineties, I began doing a series of painted parodies on our obsession with fitness.  Which in a way had become my own obsession, with doing everything I could to prevent back problems from re-curing in my life.  Swimming and pool therapy, after surgery, was one way I regained flexibility and mobility. From hospital pool therapy done while living in Colorado, I moved into the wild world of Southern California health clubs when we came to live in San Diego. What I saw in these environments caught my artist's eye and became fodder for my art.

In each of these humorous pieces, a skeleton "works out," reminding us of the final outcome. Working so hard to be okay, to overcome pain and immobility, I developed a disciplined routine of exercises and stretches that dominates my life. I had taken everything so seriously about recovery and needed a laugh. These pieces were great comic relief.

Obviously there is also therapeutic relief at being able to share such experiences through word and image. It turned out that the response was overwhelming --more than 1,400 entries were received from 17 countries and 43 states. "eMotion Pictures: An Exhibition of Orthopaedics in Art" opened at the Herbst International Exhibition Hall at the San Francisco Presidio, from February -March 2001 with 167 works from 132 artists. And smaller versions of the exhibition are due to travel. A beautiful catalog and website (emotionpictures.aaos.org) with art and text from each person in the San Francisco show is now available.

What an unusual exhibition this was to have combined artists, children and surgeons' view of themselves and the conditions that affect their lives on a daily basis. And it turned out that heavyweight curators from the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, the Cleveland Institute of Art and the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts in San Francisco had a tough time deciding who would make the final cut for the exhibition.  It excites me when innovative ways are found to re-integrate fine arts into the world.

Alas, all this was paid for by pharmaceutical companies, vendors of orthopaedic products and the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons. I struggle with thinking that we only get first class treatment as artists when someone sees a way to use us in their marketing. Yet, believing that what we have to say outweighs this enabling sponsorship, I accepted the trade-off.

While grateful to the surgeons, I prefer to dwell on the message the artists and children sent out:

"Art plays such an important part in my living with any limitations since I can visualize my problems and get them out in front of my psyche.  It is on the page or canvas that I can see and feel in control of a situation.  In art, there is always the need to put order to a chaotic world, and it is thru this sense of arrangement that I find much meaning to my existence."--Neena Birch

When I get too low, I can open up any page in this catalog and feel commonality and inspiration. The truth is I still shudder when the words "degenerative" or "chronic" are said to me, especially as they are now in regard to arthritis in the right shoulder joint of my drawing and painting arm. I fear re-curing bouts with arthritic joints and degenerative disc disease whenever they manifest in my body (as they have numerous times since the 80's). At times, I express this anxiety in my art hoping to rid my system of its noxious effects. 

Aging, I accumulate even more degenerative changes that threaten my full participation in life... I have to literally watch my back.  I insist on being active, but also have to  honor my need for rest and self care. These conditions have taught me so much about myself and how important it is to balance outer and inner needs. There is a particular anxiety and wisdom that comes from dealing with chronic conditions that flare up and calm down in their own mystifying pattern.  Frustrating as it is, I learn over and over again to navigate the territory of my own body, creating renewal and healing along the way.