Fallen Pieces

Have you ever looked into the mirror and seen nothing? Absolutely nothing. Just empty open space within the enclosure you stand in. Plink, plink, plink. The tap is dripping, I feel more presence in this sound than in my entire body. Come back Sarah, your son needs you, here and now. I borrow a breath, splash some water on my face and smack my cheeks into rosy redness.

We had just moved into our new home. Home. It was difficult to apply this term to the place where we were now living. Yes, my partner had worked all by himself for nearly one month from morning till morning sometimes in order to renovate the house and make it a livable space for us. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I opened the door and saw the transformation that it had undergone. But still, there was nothing we could do about all the fallen structures that were surrounding the house. A fallen wooden gate with moss and lichen growths welcomed us onto the plot, immediately to the left a fallen bread oven with a rusty door told it’s story of days when the village folk would gather round to enjoy the warm crusty buns baked within. Just a step further from there stood a shed for storing firewood, patched together with wooden planks and roofing sheets, the bottom of it eaten away by dampness and harsh weather. Next came a building that looked like another small house, it’s door sealed shut by two long beams placed in an X formation, it’s windows haunted by torn, once white lace curtains. And on they went, the fallen buildings, one after the other, completely encircling our dwelling. A fallen barn, another fallen shed and one more fallen structure that I have no idea what purpose it could have had. Oh and let me not forget the fallen, rusty van, filled with boxes and household goods that stood parked almost in the middle of the plot. The guardian of this place was none other than the grandiose walnut tree that overshadowed the entire yard and of course, to not be out of tune with the apocalyptic ambiance of the enclosure, it reached its branches up high, withered and dead.

After searching for a house for over a month, with the oncoming cold months forcing us to make a decision, we had no other choice. A caravan was not suitable to live in during autumn and winter seasons, not amongst the rolling hills and valleys of Romania. And especially not with a one year and one month old child.

The Romanian countryside is beautiful, raw rural authenticity like nowhere else in Europe. But beauty always comes with a price and in this case finding a home with a bathroom was almost next to impossible. Yep, that’s right, no bathroom and in some cases, no kitchen. Most homes that do have all the needed conditions for a family to live comfortably are either occupied or for sale, we were looking for rent.

I had had enough of city life so with a seven month belly and a rucksack on my back I headed out to look for a quiet cosy nest, hidden away from the chaos and dis-order of Bucharest, my birth place. All I wanted was to bring my unborn child into a space embraced by Mother Nature with clear, star filled night skies, clean air and humble folk.

That's exactly what I did and for just over a year I had been experiencing the tranquility and harmony I had dreamt of. But from the moment I started living out my days in this house, in early November, I knew my reality would change. I felt the energy draining out of me with each passing day. Thank goodness that we were out in the countryside and I could recharge my batteries with constant nature walks. Together with my son, we would go beyond the fields surrounding our home, reaching hilltops where we would dance with the eagles and run with the wind. Our favorite time to go out was usually just before sunset when the skies would break out into a marvel of wisps and colors. It was on the coldest of days that everything seemed to gleam that much more.

just over a year I had been experiencing the tranquility and harmony I had dreamt of but from the moment I started living out my days in this house I knew my reality would change. I felt the energy draining out of me with each passing day. I would recharge my batteries with constant nature walks. Together with my son, we would go beyond the fields surrounding our home, reaching hilltops where we would dance with the eagles and run with the wind. Our favorite time to go out was usually just before sunset when the skies would break out into a marvel of wisps and colors. It was on the coldest of days that everything seemed to gleam that much more.

A word, a feeling, a state of being held my hand continuously, something I related to death. I was walking a tightrope in between worlds. On the one side my son kept the flame within me burning, on the other, when left alone, I felt myself slipping away. Not in a sickly manner, my body didn’t ache or cry out in any way. Quite the opposite. It was as if I would step away from my body, separate from it, shed it.

The emphasis of this occurrence took place after a series of bizarre events that took place within a week. First a cat came and chose to take its last breaths right on our doorstep. We brought her in hoping that she would feel better by the fireplace but she had already made that final step into the underworld. After a couple of days a dog made its way into our garden and like the cat lay down to become one with the earth. Then the big walnut tree toppled over, taking down with it a part of our home’s roof.

Winter was now coming to an end and it felt like these happenings were taking place in order to make way for something. And I realised that I myself had been going through a death-like process. A part of me was no longer needed for what was to come. Anger, resentment, guilt, insufficiency, shame, childhood traumas had to be laid to rest. I had been carrying them around for as long as i could remember, not oblivious of them but accepting them as a normality. They kept me at bay, tucked away and hiding from the world, especially since I had become a mother. Of course, this cocoon state gave me the perfect environment for all the necessary metamorphosis to take place and the constant disembodiment episodes facilitated the full transformation. When I say full I mean complete for that particular stage in my life. Only several months later did I start to feel a sense of renewal, a rebirth.

It has now been a year and a month since we moved to our home. I look at myself in the mirror and smile wide. I paint. I paint on glass. I smile and paint on glass. It's wonderful to smile at yourself and feel alive through that smile. No need for a reflection.

I look out at the fallen structures and smile at them too. I have a project in mind for them. They will become an art gallery. In spring I plan to organise an exhibition with all my paintings. After a little fixing up, they will become the perfect fatade for my artwork, reborn through artistic expression.