page 32, things that make you go hmmmm.

i must say it has been quite the emotional weekend for me. seems like it's been that way for many other folks too (damn you, mercury!!), and a series of coincidences that bleed too easily into each other.

how is it that i was watching inception a few days earlier, have been completely obsessed with my dreams as of late, and attempting to crack the code on them to understand what's happening in my inner and outer reality, and begin reading this book, and witness Alison doing the same damn thing?

needless to say, i was BLOWN. i just couldn't stop talking about the book as i was reading it. it's pretty robotic to not read a book like this and not be reminded of my relationship with my own mother as well (i stopped being breastfed after a few weeks too! wahhhhh!) anyways. there were trace leftovers from fun home about her OCD that i was so thankful she went in depth to explain. again, she utilizes the voices of writers from yesteryear, but this time through the lens of psychoanalysts. at first, i was taken aback by this choice to pathologize herself and her experiences -- framing her life based on the analysts she was seeing (and really, really seeing), but then i realized we have something in common: the need to understand the patterns within us. it makes sense that she would incorporate Freud, Jung, and this fellow Winnicott into her work, as they professed in unlocking the puzzles of our dreams and our childhood. truthfully, the two are intrinsically related. and in her words, "the transcendent would almost always creep into the everyday" (32).
hell, she succeeded in making me want to pick up Freud and Jung's books, specifically, to apply them to my understanding of my own life.

the spread on page 32 is a super-interesting arrangement of how Alison views the beginning stages of her relationship with her mother. i must say, it immediately made me think of Oubapo elements. for one, Alison rearranges the photographs based on her own interpretation: increased happiness with every photo, and suddenly, tremendous fear in the final one. in each photograph, her mother's face is seen less and less. her mother as the maternal figure is there, but interrupted by her father's presence (although he's taking the pictures anyway). she taps into Winnicott's theories that by 3 months old, babies already have an emotional understanding of their surroundings and how they should and shouldn't behave. she is already singling out her father for his "rages", and essentially implying that the relationship with her mother was not an "ordinary" one. well, ordinary in the sense that they should foster a unique, inverse connection, of the mother being the child, and vice versa. she declares that this attachment was impossible, as her mother was too busy trying to dodge her father's "rages" and not spending enough time nurturing their own relation. hence, the rest of Alison's entire life, wondering who her mother even was in the first place and, on more than one occasion, wanting somebody, ANYBODY ELSE to be her mother instead. (that's also interesting, as it appears that who she gains knowledge and insight from is automatically fulfilling the maternal instinct for her: she mentions Jocelyn as her mother too, as well as Winnicott.)

more striking is Alison's ability to juxtapose these beginnings with their current relationship, and strategically (or not?) places their conversation across this spread. she's already established that this true connection was lost long ago, and it is evident in their imbalanced relationship today. you can always tell her mother is speaking based on the squiggly lines surrounding her text, which suggests she's either speaking loudly, or that Alison doesn't ever really take what she says seriously. "I couldn't believe Lady Gaga on the grammys last night. Puh-lease. I like punk. I like weird!" Then, Alison anchors this transition with her mentioning of the transcendent creeping, as even her mother is still haunted by dreams of her father. this reveals the unsettled guilt and frustration laden in their relationship, as Alison was always enamored by her father moreso than her mother anyway, although she was "wary" of him. as is custom in their family, her mother relates to her through discussing Sylvia Plath's journals, but still dismisses her as "a spoiled brat". (i am reminded about Alison's dream of the spider web as well, but i won't veer too far from here tonight.)

on the one hand, my eyes wanted to read each square panel together and go back and re-read her mother's commentary; on the other, Alison's intention to scatter her existential thoughts as her mother is speaking shows just how much respect she tries to have for her, but it always seems as though it falls short. she mentions that she sees herself as the parent, and her mother, the child in this relationship. this page is a physical embodiment of that experience, as the photos combine to tell one tale, and her words describe how they've related to each other ever since. also noteworthy is the gerber jar filled with ink, the red ruler dead-center in the page, her glasses, and the paintbrushes/scalpel. it seems as though her mother is a complete distraction from the work she was trying to do by calling her, although the work she is doing is about her. what a freakin conundrum.