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Amelia's avatar

I knew I was an artist, and this was going to be the center of my life from age 9. A space to explore this reality was also available to me and I began to understand its role as well. My studio has always been my safe space where I affirm my identity, it is the crucible of my life force. However, while pursuing the many investigations I engage in there, which are manifested in a language of images, I always come away from my studio with niggling thoughts and doubts about what I am doing and why. That is why when I enter my studio once again, I am seeking proof of the authenticity of my pursuit and that I am on the right path in my creative actions and decisions. Some days “there it is” others it is not. The proof of the pudding is at age 85 I continue this pursuit.

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Karen Egee's avatar

We loved this doctor, his big gray eyes steadying us through so many crises, new metasteses, ever shorter prognoses, new chemoes and radiation schedules. This time we were there because of a new pain, in R’s neck. Was it cancer or something else, and anything else would have been preferable at this point. While usually it took scans, somehow this time the oncologist was able to figure it out with a biopsy. He had the microscope out in the hall right outside his office.

“Come look!” He called out from the hallway.

“You can actually see the cancer cells!” He was clearly excited that they were so visible, like he had spotted a hard to see star through a telescope. R, looking faint, politely declined, but I obliged, mainly to please this kind doctor who was always there for us.

“See those red ones all bunched up on the side? Those are cancer cells, like regular cells but reproducing way too fast.” I had thought cancer cells would look ghastly, inky black splotches, not these bright healthy little berry bunches, whose main flaw, apparantly, was overproduction. Nevertheless there they were, proof of the source of his new pain.

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