assembly • holding space

A black silhouette of a dragonfly inside a white circle.

I’m holding space for the realization that my dad can no longer figure out how things go together.

That’s heavy. Tell me more?

It’s hard to find the words, to be honest - the sculpture captures so much for me. I’ve tried to combine the visuals with the words in this narrative video, as best I can. The transcript is below if prefer to read it.

  • I’m holding space for the realization that my dad can no longer figure out how things go together.

    He used to have a great mechanical sensibility, and rarely needed to read instructions. In retirement, he had designed and built furniture. He made stands for his tools, and jigs for complicated cuts. But he’s lost so much to Parkinson’s. A couple years ago, a cognitive test showed he was unable to solve a simple maze, much less complicated than the ones he taught me to solve on our first Macintosh. Diminishing spatial awareness was the first sign of cognitive decline, after a few years of physical symptoms.

    He still wants to be involved in putting together any chairs, side tables, or other little projects around the house … but it’s different now. The intent is there but the comprehension is not.

    Here is a moment in this new reality … like the figure needing help in Ikea instructions, lost in confusion, surrounded by pieces of a simple table. He knows that he used to know how to assemble it, yet now he is unable to make sense of the parts or the assembly directions. The words are empty. The questions aren’t answered.

    And the thing is, it’s difficult for everyone involved. As pressures of the day increase, and the clock keeps ticking, it can be hard to sustain an empathetic perspective.

    By gently suspending this moment in time in physical form, I practice creating the space within myself to appreciate his experience more deeply - and to honor my own experience at the same time.

May I see another sculpture?

Sure, head back to the carousel and pick out another one with a red button (that means there’s more to see). I’ll be right behind you, I just need a minute.