The Circle

Overview

I. Today I finished making the Circle.
I read recently that just as we have a compulsion to understand our being, we attempt to explain why we make objects. I don't know why I make objects, but I am sure of one thing, I want to understand my being.
I picked up an object from my childhood - the pin, my mother taught me from a very young age how to sew, I wanted to remove it from its past function and life but not entirely. I wanted to use the power of something simple, banal. We often neglect simple, banal things. I wanted to use the pin. What it can convey through suggestion and association is possibly larger than the pin itself, much larger.
II. I stretched the raw canvas taut. I wet it with water, it's hessian smell overpowering. It took a day to dry. I thought I wanted to make a circle like a mole on the skin, like the disk of the sun, like an enlarged pore and I wanted blood or something like blood coming through each piercing the pin made. I wanted a concentrated sphere of slow pain.
III. Skin. That which contains us. That which feels the most sensitive. That which lets
things through or prevents them from going through. That which registers pain and pleasure. Skin is that which is porous, that which we can or cannot see through. The meeting point of inside-outside. The collision of objects-meets-humans. Skin is the barrier or the frontier to this world around us. Skin is audacious; there is a healing part of us just as there is a gaping wound somewhere on its expanse of limited space. Skin is that which holds us - all of our insides - together. It holds us mentally too. It shields our brain, our skull, our horrific thoughts. We are skin.
IV. Possibilities. A Painting without paint. Silent, loud female, pinning and screaming. Obsessive acts. Compulsive repetition. Holding the inside-outside in one moment, one motion, in oneness. Expressing torment without the goriness of torment. What does psychological torment feel like? Over years and years and years.
V. Feeling surrounded by uncontrollable events and people.Feeling the burden ot communicating verbally, all the while knowing that that is but an illusion. Feeling the weight of the world on me. Everything is a responsibility. Even breathing takes an effort sometimes.Feeling the shards of the passing minute like pins at me. Feeling I'm the Circle, in the Circle, the 'canvas' holding the Circle.