AMY MEISSNER
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A history of teeth.

9/18/2015

22 Comments

 
Memory is a strange thing. It is fleeting, it is shaped by the retelling, it is and is not a shared experience. It can define a person's life. So much of memory is held in place by the details surrounding it -- the smells, the sounds, the tastes -- and yet the walls of this supportive container are just as malleable, a shape-shifting vessel holding an element that could be gas or liquid or solid or some combination, but never the same thing twice.

When I was nine, while waiting for a friend outside her house, I draped a blue camp tarp across my shoulders, swirling the extra fabric into the crooks of my elbows, fisting sturdy wads of it in place at my sides. We'd planned an elaborate fort -- our eye on a dense cluster of black oaks -- and I was impatient because she'd had to pee, again, the result of medication she took for a heart condition. Her mother had died that year and our friendship felt distant and strained. We couldn't talk about her family's loss, but we could play in the woods the same as always and I was looking forward to an afternoon of normalcy for the two of us, although I wouldn't have defined it as such at the time. She wouldn't be gone long, just a quick pee. I marched along the sidewalk in a long trailing blue straightjacket, waiting. Then I fell.  

Sometimes, even 35 years later, I still wake to the sickening sound of my face hitting the concrete.

Amy Meissner, textile artist. Reliquary #1: Accumulation. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
"Reliquary #1: Accumulation" (39.5" x 49.25"). Vintage domestic linens & drapery, wool, cotton, silk charmeuse & organza mesh, found objects, clothing. Machine pieced, hand embroidered & appliquéd, hand quilted, 2014.

I remember thinking I should get up. I should be crying -- no, screaming -- or calling for help at least, but I was still tangled in the tarp and pinned to the ground. When her family found me, I'd somehow made it to the front door, but no one told me that my two front teeth were demolished, or that my lips were already swollen and bloody. I stared at her older brother, the boy who had once sealed our dollhouse animals in a Tupperware and tossed them into the middle of the pool. His face was slack and white, his eyes fixed on my mouth. The father took me by the shoulders, walked me down the hall into the bathroom and propped me in front of the mirror, never saying a word. My hair was in pigtails. I think the hall carpet was rusty orange, the bathroom wallpaper a repeated series of brown line drawings featuring naked people hiding their privates with cleverly placed towels. 
,
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

The next memory takes place at my home, sobbing in our living room, tucked under an end table with a bloody cloth and a bag of ice while my mother spoke to the dentist on the phone, holding a triangle of tooth in a ziplock bag (the other, bigger triangle forever lost outside where my friend and her brother still searched). Strangers were replacing the carpet in our trailer, from matted mossy green to brown, the weeks leading up to this day punctuated with, "This brown shade? Or this brown? Or maybe this brown?" The man on his knees below the window by the TV, spoke Italian and I remember thinking he was probably someone's grandpa. He turned to me with a tool in his hand and said, "You have to be more careful." He shook that tool at me.

And that horrible smell of new synthetic carpet.

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

I didn't make this piece of artwork because my teeth broke off. Or because I still dream that they are falling into my hands, all bloody pulp and shards. Or because it's my worry for my own children when they spin out of control down sledding hills, or crash into one another on purpose with razor scooters. I made this piece because the words are what the muse whispered in my ear a year ago and it was up to me to figure out what it meant:

          My teeth. My teeth. My teeth are falling out.

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

My work takes a long time to make. There are many steps, several ways to begin and abandon processes.
So I have time to think about and explore what each piece means.

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

This is, in a way, a luxury.

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

In other ways, it is haunting. 

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

The meaning of my work lies in the materials I use: old fabrics, clothing, abandoned domestic linens. Scraps of a life that came before or existed parallel to mine, each bit a memory in its own right. And all of these fragments are fragile, each needs a system of support fabrics and inner structures or outer veils to keep them whole and safe and contained, keeping them alive just a little bit longer.

No one sees this part, this way of working that draws from years of making patterns, draping mannequins, building corsets for wedding gowns. You aren't supposed to see it. I rarely use adhesives or fusibles. When I have, I've been disappointed and wished I'd taken the time to solve the problem in a different way. But each case is different. Sometimes glues are necessary, but for me it is always a last resort. Is isn't a medium.

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

No one sees your memories unless you share them somehow. This, the problem for each of us to solve: whether or not to share. Does revealing memory lead to further understanding? Or is it more confessional, useless information that no one cares about?

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

So this piece is a reliquary for loss, and how the accumulation of every small loss in one's life begins to shape a person and forces us to make choices. We can curl into a sobbing ball beneath a table, or we can take these shards and try to form them into something beautiful and dark. This piece is the vessel for a memory, but the making has shaped that memory so it will never be quite the same as when it existed solely in my mind. This piece doesn't look like that day. It doesn't represent that day. But it is the culmination of all the days between that one and this.

I found out this week that the piece has been accepted into Quilts=Art=Quilts at the Schweinfurth Memorial Art Center in Auburn, New York. This is the second year I have submitted and been asked to exhibit. The first piece in 2014 was also perhaps difficult to look at and understand. For this reason, I'm incredibly grateful that the jurors chose to include my work each time. I wonder if they took a chance on its inaccessibility. I hope people will view it, wonder and come away wanting to know more. Hopefully they'll make there way here.

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth

I lived with broken, poorly repaired teeth for decades: composite bonding materials always too yellow or too white, or that threatened to pop off (like in the station wagon on the way to the 4th grade Christmas play), or that had to be supported by pins drilled into the existing tooth. I've endured multiple root canals, dental surgeries, stitches in my gums. I remember an incredibly painful file getting stuck between my front teeth and my head being yanked off the dentist's chair again and again while he tried to free it, tears rolling down my temples and collecting in my ears. That was the week before I got married.

10 years ago, pregnant with my son, I dropped stacks$, accepted my vanity and had proper veneers made. Coming home from the dentist's office, I nearly drove onto the sidewalk because I couldn't stop staring at my new teeth in the rear view mirror. These were movie star teeth, fused to those fragile shards beneath. The right glue. The right color. The right shape. The right medium. Porcelain. 

God damn it. I deserved them.

Amy Meissner, textile artist. From the post A history of teeth. www.amymeissner.com/blog/a-history-of-teeth
22 Comments
Misty Cole link
9/18/2015 10:54:19 am

I've recently discovered your work and I'm in awe. I had to chuckle when I read this because I finished a quilt that includes my sons' baby teeth. It will be at IQF Houston and Chicago if you happen to visit, in the Festival of Quilt Art: Celebrations special exhibit. Nice to know someone else makes art about teeth. *Grin*

Reply
Amy Meissner link
9/20/2015 07:30:52 am

Misty,
I'm so glad you've discovered this blog! Thanks for taking the time to comment -- I contemplated incorporating my son's baby teeth, but then there's the whole Tooth Fairy thing and how do I explain THAT? This piece uses beach-worn quartz instead; I'm a collector, an "accumulator," of stones and beachy finds.
Best of luck in all your shows!
XO
Amy

Reply
Susan Shie link
9/18/2015 11:45:32 am

You are one hell of a writer, and I really got pulled into your mind, with all your stories and drawings and photos here. I love your teeth piece, but your writing just blows me away. Thanks for putting all that time into such raw and honest telling.

Reply
Amy Meissner link
9/20/2015 07:34:19 am

Susan,
Thank you so much for commenting and for recognizing the effort put into the writing -- no one has time to read crap so I work really hard to make sure there isn't any (or much of it) here. I hope you'll be compelled to re-visit.
XO
Amy

Reply
Gwen Delmore
9/18/2015 12:08:20 pm

Your work thrills me and inspires me. I need to devote a few days to reading your whole blog. I love the piece you made, and what you wrote about it (thinking all the while I read it, but she has such a beautiful smile...).
Your writing is excellent also.

Reply
Amy Meissner link
9/20/2015 07:38:39 am

Gwen,
Thank you for saying that about my smile. It was very expensive and I haven't bitten into an apple or eaten corn off the cob in 35 years. I'm thrilled that you would even consider reading my entire blog. That would require many cups of tea. I'd like to think you'd get to know me pretty well by the end!
XO
Amy

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Nancy link
9/18/2015 01:41:53 pm

Congratulations on getting your work accepted into the show! Thank you for sharing your process and your personal story.

Reply
Amy Meissner link
9/20/2015 07:40:52 am

I appreciate that you've taken the time to read the post, Nancy! It's been fun to get to know you!
XO
Amy

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judy martin link
9/18/2015 05:20:26 pm

Amy, your work sings the aesthetics of labour. All the work that you put into your work - and the odd and loaded materials - adds up to power and beauty.

Of course they want your work at quilts = art = quilts. Congratulations! xo

Reply
Amy Meissner link
9/20/2015 07:49:32 am

Judy,
I think learning about the aesthetics of labour has come from many sources in my life -- following your work and writing over the last 5-6 years as I hemmed and hawed, contemplating this form, is one of them.
Many thanks for that mentorship--
Amy

Reply
Cathy Perlmutter link
9/18/2015 07:56:19 pm

Extraordinary story, and quilt. Thank you so much for sharing this work.

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Amy Meissner link
9/20/2015 07:50:23 am

I so appreciate your kind words and time, Cathy.
XO
Amy

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Carol Trice link
9/19/2015 09:49:59 am

I love your piece and wish I could see it in person, especially now that I know the memory behind it. I am honored to have a piece in the show as well.

And, yes, you DESERVE your beautiful teeth and awesome smile!

Carol

Reply
Amy Meissner link
9/20/2015 07:56:15 am

Congratulations to you as well, Carol!
This has been a lovely introduction to your artwork and blog--thank you so much for commenting here so I could learn about your work, too. Love those bold lines and contemporary imagery. Gorgeous.
I hope to continue correspondence!
XO
Amy

Reply
Helen Geglio
9/29/2015 02:23:37 pm

Your thoughtful narrative is a pleasure to read. Someday I hope to see some of your work in person, but for now I am enjoying your work through photos. Congratulations on your acceptance in the Quilts=Art+Quilts exhibit!

Reply
Amy Meissner link
10/1/2015 05:37:00 am

Helen,
It's a pleasure to see your name here. Thank you for reading and commenting ... Looking forward to someday seeing your work in person as well!
XO
Amy

Reply
Barbara Hanson
9/30/2015 11:46:36 pm

Wow, I am just stunned Amy. My teeth almost hurt while reading your story. Congratulations on your piece being accepted into the show. So much wonderful artistry and careful thought put into this piece. Thank you for sharing.

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Amy Meissner link
10/1/2015 05:38:45 am

Thank you for reading the post, Barbara. I appreciate your kind words and hope you'll be back to read more some time.
XO
Amy

Reply
Anne Munoz link
10/8/2015 06:48:16 am

I love that you took the time to tell this story about your extraordinary quilt. Brought back memories of when I knocked out my 2 front teeth - not as traumatic as your experience. Your work is lovely and I wish I could go to QAQ to see it. I also have a piece in the show but not such an amazing story behind it. Thanks for sharing. Inspires me to write about my work, to learn how to express myself in words as well as in my art.

Reply
Amy Meissner link
10/8/2015 11:50:52 am

Anne,
Thank you so much for contacting me and giving me the opportunity to learn about your work as well (I slunk around on your site just now). I love what you are doing with batik and I, too, wish I could travel to QAQ to see all these amazing works of art and meet ALL these kindred spirits!
Many thanks for reading my blog,
XO
Amy

Reply
Lynn Wilson
12/14/2015 06:08:00 am

I saw your piece yesterday and here I am, wanting to know more. I was hoping to find your artist's statement as I was wishing I'd written it down. I go to that exhibit almost every year, so I will look for your work in the future! (And also that of Anne Muñoz. Her piece, Luna Essence 1, was another that made a strong impression.)

Reply
Amy Meissner link
12/14/2015 06:47:07 am

Lynn,
Thank you for your kind words about my work, and thank you for taking the time to learn more! Above and beyond! I hope some of your questions were answered here. The other posts in the "Histories" blog sidebar category discuss the process on other pieces. I'm glad you made it to QAQ...it's a little far for me.

I hope you'll come back to visit this blog. I post about once a week and spend a ridiculous amount of time polishing the writing, all in the hopes of providing readers with connection to the broader life experiences that shape all of us and our art -- no matter the medium.

XO
Amy

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    Amy Meissner, textile artist. Photo credit Brian Adams, 2013. www.amymeissner.com

    Amy Meissner

    Artist in Anchorage, Alaska, sometimes blogging about the collision of history, family & art, with the understanding that none exists without the other.

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