Three months “after,” twelve acrylic self-portraits stand, documenting the ongoing recovery from society’s gaze. Including before and after the event. The surgery that opened up her chest, identifiable by the crusty scars that line her breasts and nipples. Surgical tape and a yoda bandaid keeps the body together, albeit bruised and misshapen. These imperfections are emphasized through the use of unnatural and blinding colours. The viewer is dared to take a harder look, a closer look at the body that has been man-handled. There is only solace when the artist’s own hand caresses the breasts, implanting a sense of care within the space of the paintings.
As her first solo show, Anna Golding’s “RECOVERY FOR ME, RECOVERY FOR ALL” is organized chronologically, giving viewers direct insight into her recuperation from breast reduction surgery. The exhibition includes 12 paintings, 2 of which occur “before,” while 10 depict “after,” denoted by the red line circling the gallery, divided by a large red dot representing the surgery.
What does it mean to heal the body? To be in recovery? Golding paints a vulnerable picture of this process. Involving focus on the parts of her body she most wants to hide. She’s never wanted people to take notice of her chest, but now she is reclaiming this part of her body. She grows stronger through each rendition in the series. She gains confidence every time she performs the last stroke of an imperfect nipple. She finds beauty in the scars that could be easily hidden away. She finds power in deepening their cut, because it is an act of recovery, for herself and for the community.
This show was not just for her but the broader community. The gallery’s window brings to mind the ransom note effect generated by the juxtaposition of a number of typefaces, concealing the author’s identity. As the title of the exhibition is “RECOVERY FOR ME, RECOVERY FOR ALL,” the use of this anonymous font is one aspect of the show that extends a hand to others, speaking to the collective nature of the process of recovery. Defined as the process of returning to a normal state of health, mind or strength, recovery is a process everyone will experience at some point in their life. Through this show, Golding demonstrates how sharing one’s recovery is an act of recovery for the community. In this sense, recovery does not happen in isolation, but within the community.
Wandering the exhibit, I take notice of the wounds the artist chose to have inflicted on her body in search of recovery. Recovery from the gaze of society. In each painting, she takes control, choosing what the viewer gets to scrutinize. Spotlighting the gashes and incisions that cut across the flesh of the breast, these lines mimic the red line surrounding the gallery walls. Though this line is much neater than those marking the artist’s flesh. The red streak calls to mind subway lines or perhaps a timeline, delineating the passage of recovery. Just as the artist traces her scars with her fingers in many of the paintings, we trace the process of the artist by moving through the gallery space. If you reach out and touch this line, you will notice it is thick enough to be raised out from the wall, speaking to the raised texture of scars on the body.
The shocking use of colour brings to mind the likes of Joan Semmel, the American painter known for her unflinchingly honest self-portraits depicted in unnatural hues. Channeling Semmel, Golding captures her body as it is, crusty scars, yoda bandaids, surgical tape and all, enhanced only by the elevation of colour. Eye-catching colour combinations flourish through the progression of paintings, beginning with the first painting in which a body is depicted in shades of gray. This suggests a hesitant tiptoe into the subject matter, which is revoked as colour builds in the body, erupting onto the wood panels in a decisive manner. In this way, Golding manipulates colour to serve as a remedy and a reclamation of her body.
The final piece in the show is also the largest painting, one that showcases the artist’s growing sense of self. A diptych presents the artist embracing self-touch, captioned by the words, “A LITTLE NIPPLE STIMULATION NEVER HURT ANYONE.” The font of this statement brings to mind the artist’s affinity with graffiti and spray paint. Through the use of complementary colours, the artist plays up the story of the Midas touch, welcoming the notion of vanity and pride in one’s body. She demonstrates a level of comfort with herself and her changing body, not seen in the earlier images from this series, which I see as evidence of recovery. Finally, this painting is the most direct in addressing the viewers and punctuates the show with clear eye-contact as if to ask, “What are you looking at?”
Overall, I am left with gratitude. I am grateful to have been invited to bear witness to the artist’s process of recovery. I can see the healing progress through each stroke of paint. I can feel the sense of self that is being rebuilt through executing this series of paintings. But it is not over, the series will span from September 29, 2021-2022. In connecting with the artist, I understand that recovery is never done, we are always in the state of “after” an event and reassembling our sense of self.
Recovery and Self-Image: Foreword & Interview by Callie Gibson
Tits.
Titties. Boobs. Breasts. Honkers. Mammaries.
They’ve been used as a subject throughout the history of art, and transformed into metaphors by the hypermasculine patriarchy of early poetry. The terminology surrounding the female anatomy, in an academic setting, is monetized by the usage of medical and a seemingly professional filter. What appears as informal references to the female chest creates a sexualized, and almost derogatory, context. The term “breast” conjures a strange discomfort, almost removing ownership that one has over their body. It’s difficult to refer to boobs in such a politically sanitized way while attempting to maintain the important role it plays to individuals, especially within the construct that is femininity.
Having dealt with the insecurities surrounding my own femininity and my perceptions of the ideal female body, I was incredibly moved by Anna Golding’s RECOVERY FOR ME, RECOVERY FOR ALL. In the exhibition, she documents the process of healing from breast surgery through the act of self-portraiture.
Being on the opposite end of what Anna was struggling with, I felt a strong sense of comfort knowing that you seem to always want what you don’t have. Her visceral portraits of vulnerability resonated with me not because I shared her physical experiences, but because I connected to them in a way that allowed me to understand the turbulent emotions with altering something as fundamental as your own body.
I always wanted bigger boobs. I was always tall and lanky, and found that this would often distort my perceptions of my own womanhood. When my friends would complain that they couldn’t wear something because it was too revealing, I would often feel ashamed at the fact I couldn’t even fill out a tiny top, feeling that my figure was too ‘boyish’ for a woman.
Being able to interface with Anna’s vulnerability was the reason I wanted to find out more about the process behind the creation of her portraits, examining how my own vanity was often complicit in how I saw my body and the role heteronormative gaze has had in conditioning me to feel that way about my feminity.
What ensued was an emotional conversation about body image, recovery, building solidarity and breaking barriers through shared vulnerability. The discussion has been edited for clarity.
Callie: When creating these paintings, did you have any intention of showing them publicly? Or was it purely for yourself?
Anna: I wanted to do it for myself, to remind myself how far I’ve come and how impactful it was for me. I didn’t have any idea I was going to exhibit, I was originally doing it on my own time. By exhibiting I was able to share what I was feeling, or feelings that I have felt in other surgeries I’ve had, as ones that I assumed other people could resonate with. I was creating a small sense of community without knowing it. The negative feelings towards myself are exactly what I wanted to put on display and, in a way, tackle it by showing the really repulsive and disgusting details of recovery. I thought that people might feel, after seeing something they’ve gone through, slightly better about themselves or reduce some of the negativity towards they’ve placed on their own healing bodies.
Callie: You’re still a young adult, I mean, it’s hard enough to be comfortable with your own body at this age let alone be ready to take on critiques and have people analyzing your nudity. How did it feel to be painting and allowing people to see such a vulnerable journey, especially in the form of self portraiture?
Anna: It was honestly terrifying. I still try not to think about it. It’s terrifying to think about how vulnerable I was when I was painting. I pretty much flashed the University of Guelph. It was a lot of embarrassment because no one else in my painting class was painting their own nudes. I would start painting in the studio alone so that I could really get to the bare bones of what I wanted to do without the distraction of how ashamed I was of the pictures, specifically because some of them are quite graphic. Then about halfway into it I felt a kind of comfortable pride, really accepting that this was what I was doing. At this point I was happy with the results I was seeing [of the healing process], I was about three months in which is close to the end of recovery. Since I was feeling physically better, it translated into my paintings and how I felt when looking back on them. It was a really long uphill climb emotionally and physically.
Callie: Has the process of creating these paintings changed the way you view your body, and the process, before and after the surgery?
Anna: I think it’s had primarily a positive impact, but also a negative one. When you’re painting something you’re going to be thinking and analyzing the whole time you’re working. Every once in a while I would catch myself thinking, “Oh wait, this is actually a nice looking boob right there”, or proudly realizing, “that’s my boob, all right!” It was difficult to look at all the bruising and crusty blood, but this is what I looked like for only a month or two. I don’t look like that anymore and it was important to recognize that. I definitely had to work through a lot of those feelings when I was painting, but when you stare at something for long enough it just becomes a collection of shapes and colors. I definitely disconnected from seeing these as my body at some points. At times I felt like my boobs no longer felt like mine, it’s a totally new body that I have to get used to. I still don’t feel fully like they’re a part of me yet, and staring at them for so long while painting had a big part to play in that.
Callie: What have the reactions to the collection been?
Anna: The collective reaction was like, “oh my god you’re naked!” But then after taking a step back they can see that there’s a lot of reasons as to why I am naked. A lot of people have been telling me how proud they are of me, and I’m taking that as a huge compliment, but also it allowed me to realize that I’m doing something really important. I guess I was really just hoping that I would create a comfortable space to promote self-care and self-love in a way that capitalizes on the process of healing itself, rather than the final product.
You know, I would be having a conversation with someone and it seemed that because my body was on display it created this comfortable and open space. I had people tell me things like, “Oh yeah, my nipples point east and west”, and it was not weird at all because we were surrounded by paintings of my boobs as well. It felt like a community of strong women talking about their own bodies in a way that they wanted to. It had the complete opposite effect on individuals who identified as men, who didn’t share the same emotional reaction. They tended to be awkward in conversation and even my professor, who is a man, at one point critiqued my nipple. I mean, it was in a completely removed and technical way, but I was like, “Oh man, I was just starting to feel good about my nipples”. I’m not saying that men aren’t allowed into this conversation, but in this setting it felt so much more comfortable to be surrounded by sympathizing folks.
Callie: Seeing your exhibition, I imagined myself in your position. You’re chopping off what is traditionally a factor to the construct of femininity, and as someone who has quite small boobs myself, and has wished that I had a more “womanly figure”, I questioned what impact this would have on my own definition of femininity. It’s likely just a construction of the male gaze, but do you feel that this surgery has changed the way that you view yourself as a woman, or affected the way you perceive your own femininity?
Anna: I definitely had conflicting thoughts on my perception of femininity throughout the entire process. On one hand, I was getting rid of a natural part of me; on the other hand, I was physically in pain and it was changing the way I viewed myself, so they had to go. When I first saw myself after the surgery, I definitely felt like a part of my femininity had disappeared since my entire figure had changed. I no longer had the hourglass silhouette I was used to, and I had immediate regret. I mean, I was being fed what a feminine body was supposed to look like and now I was missing an aspect of that. But it’s had the complete opposite effect now. I had so many people compliment my boobs throughout the process. I am so confident in my body now, and especially confident about my chest. Everyone has good tits, and it felt more gratifying hearing it from someone else through this exhibition, it was really reassuring.
Callie: The point you make about what you were fed to believe “femininity” really resonates with me. I like to refer to my own physique as that of a “ruler”, flat with no curves. You always want what you don’t have, and in my case seeing you get rid of what I “wanted” spurned quite an emotional reaction out of me. I didn’t even think of the medical reasonings behind it all, it was my own pure vanity. Does going through this process and seeing the reaction of those around you inspire you to continue creating work surrounding the themes of body image and healing bodies?
Anna: I think! As I mentioned before, I didn’t really plan on exhibiting. I originally just started taking photos so I could see my gradual progression throughout the healing process. I could look at them and see they [my boobs] were no longer swelling and misshapen, covered in medical tape. Now that I had these photos, I could paint them. This was not only a huge exhibition on its own, but it was an even bigger step in my artistic style, which I’d been questioning for two or so years now. This project and this style really allowed me to step into what I wanted to see myself doing. I was really showcasing the techniques and bits of inspirations I’d kept in my back pocket all these years; the bold colors and the subject of such vulnerability was something I’d really admired in other people’s work. It came full circle and it finally felt like I reached a point where I could express and utilize what I’d really been wanting to do artistically. I’m not finished with the series, so I will definitely be continuing to paint the beautiful subject that is my chest. I don’t know when it will end, but I’m not done yet. After I finish painting myself, I want to take a step into painting other people’s bodies and focus on different types of vulnerabilities. I think it would really showcase that although you don’t know how other people feel, everyone has something they feel vulnerable putting on display for the world to see. I want to appreciate and show how beautiful everyone is. It’s like if I were to tell you, Callie, “Oh, you have such a lovely figure!”, and you may not see yourself in that way. I want to be able to provide that for someone else.
