Connecting My Foot With My Sister's Face - Surogates
Paired black-eyed surrogate dolls, housing the electronics in a cuddly bundle.

Connecting My Foot With My Sister’s Face

Connecting My Foot With My Sister's Face - Surogates

Paired black-eyed surrogate dolls, housing the electronics in a cuddly bundle.

Connecting My Foot With My Sister’s Face

My Sister & I Have Issues…

Anyone who knows us, knows that my sister and I like to beat each other up. The mock outrages, pained expressions, staged confrontations, all resulting in brilliant smiles and childish rocking. I think the number of times we have appealed to mom to arbitrate over some impass has only increased with our age (well, when the two of us are together).

The ultimate occasion–when this became too much for our long suffering parents to stand–was two Christmases ago. After opening presents and collecting a list for thank you cards, Mom, Christine, and I were standing in the kitchen. Christine spouted some outrageous nonsense (though what is was is immaterial and long forgotten) to which it was only fitting and proper for me to eloquently respond with a kick to her head.* As I raised my leg in mid pirouette, my foot became intimately acquainted with a heavy wooden stool which happily soared across the room leaving my foot equally sore. After a leisurely brunch with both the orange juice and my foot iced, my family decided they could be bothered to take me to the ER. There I played around in a wheel chair while a doctor examined X-Rays of my fractured foot. It was the perfect Christmas: that awkward and empty period between brunch and dinner was perfectly filled by my hospital visit and we all happily sat down to dinner shortly after my return from the hospital…My following week in San Francisco might not have been as fun…

Either way, such golden moments are only afforded when we can physically interact. My sister an I may attempt to come up with substitutes, but nothing beats a playful bump or prod. When we were assigned to “make a connection” in Softness of Things, I knew what had to be done. Thus, I present to all, My Foot To My Sister’s Face, a project meant to express the playful abuse that we pile upon each other at every opportunity.

Connecting My Foot With My Sister's face - Christine's Rebuttal

“I’m an expression of Elizabeth’s repressed, abusive love for Christine”

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