Two important parts of my life are beginning to come together. My Summer’s spent in Barcelona in my grandmother’s (Abuela’s) flat as a child, and my oh so recent diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome.
My adoration of this sacred space – a dusty fifth floor flat overlooking the port with a vista towards the statue of Columbus – is now (in my mind) intimately connected to my neurology. My need for sanctuary and predictability.
Often, when my family ventured out on new adventures (I acquiesced when we took familiar outings) I would elect to stay behind to spend time with Abuela, and as she busied herself about her chores, I would revel in my surroundings, running inventories of all the objects and the furniture. Adored wardrobe containing my grandfather’s crisp suits, cardigans and shirts, all smelling of mothballs (!) An unfamiliar scent back in England, but here intense, pungent, an olfactory surprise each time encountered. Bordering on the noxious yet somehow of fascination. I inhaled on each circuit of my perambulation – I turned the key, the door hinged and oof!
I see now that this was an unusual focus of interest, but also that it powers my current practice. I would not be here today gathering suitcase mountains in my studio and painting atmosphere with brushes and objects if it weren’t for my childhood fascination.
This wardrobe also held a mirror inside the door. I confess that as a child, I loved nothing more than talking to my reflection. Around my diagnosis a budding interest in selfies and mirrors is forming. It is joined by a ‘if we were twins” fantasy, which may be connected to the necessity of holding two personalities to a greater extent than a neurotypical person – although we all have our indoor and outdoor selves.
Good morning twin is a phrase that bubbles up in my plate spinning brain, sparking connections and creating waves of excitement.
