Unweavers of Lies
Installation photograph, Eleanor Antin: Time's Arrow, at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, May 12–July 28, 2019, © Eleanor Antin, photo © Museum Associates/LACMA
“I consider the usual aids to self-definition—sex, age, talent, time and space—as tyrannical limitations upon my freedom of choice.”
– Eleanor Antin
An Article By: ELI MATHIS CHEATHAM
For the 1972 Whitney Sculpture Biennial, Eleanor Antin did not use marble, wood, or even clay for her entry. Instead, she chose her body as a medium, “peeling small layers off an overall body image until [it was] gradually refined to the point of aesthetic satisfaction.” Daily she documented the gradual shift of her body, 9.92 lbs shed as she sought to become the best possible version of herself. Calorie reduction was her chisel and her camera the proof of her masterpiece.
Yet, Antin was not the first woman to try to sculpt herself into what society deemed satisfactory. That technique is one that women have been trying to master since the beginning of time. I, most certainly, am no exception to the study—grasping to become, as Antin once wrote, “the most perfect nude that was possible for the material with which I was working.” And it began at a very early age.
I was a very sensitive and chubby child—a challenging, but I expect very common combination, especially when one's grandfather decides to nickname them “Tank.” And, although I would visibly cringe each time he addressed me as such, no one ever called him out on the behavior. Perhaps the adults in my life were as desperate for his approval as I was. So, at a very early age, their complacency taught me that my body was fair game—that others could comment as they pleased, for they were the judge of my worth and the measuring stick was my body.
For the first 13 years of my life, I was found wanting. Or, perhaps in this case, gluttonous in my audacity to take up so much space.
If I could fail their test, I thought, then perhaps the opposite was true as well. Surely I could sculpt myself into exactly what they wanted. Then, all would be well and I would be worthy. Each time someone commented negatively on my looks, I would resolve to eat less and be better (and smaller).
The summer going into 7th grade, in preparation for starting a new school that would hopefully never know me as “Tank," I lost a substantial amount of weight. When I went to visit my grandfather right before school started, it was the first time I remember ever hearing him call me by my name. I had been rewarded for my artistic ability and it felt really good for a bit—until I began to obsess about not wanting to go back to the way things were.
My grandfather was not the only person to leave a mark on my relationship with my body, though his was perhaps the deepest. At ten, my riding trainer suggested that I commit to never eating more than half of what I was served at a meal and nothing in-between. Around that time, another key adult in my life taught me the intricate art of cutting up my food and moving it just so around the plate, to make it appear I had eaten far more than I had… These tricks, and later cigarettes and Diet Coke, became some of my favorite tools. Tools that I would sometimes get in trouble for overusing as people started to complain I had taken too much away and no longer looked like myself. Those complaints, while confusing, usually spurred me on more as I began to cut out anyone who seemed to interrupt my ‘peeling off of small layers.’ As unhealthy as I was, I will forever be grateful that a wise part of me was there to say ‘no, thank you’ (though perhaps I should have said ‘fuck you’) when a modeling agent took out a measuring tape and told me that they would love to sign me if I could lose two inches off my hips. By the time he was 8, my son had surpassed the number that the man suggested as my “goal weight.”
Installation photograph, featuring a detail of CARVING: A Traditional Sculpture (1972) as seen in the exhibition Eleanor Antin: Time's Arrow, at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, May 12–July 28, 2019, © Eleanor Antin, courtesy of the artist and Ronald Feldman Gallery, New York, photo © Museum Associates/LACMA
All my life, I felt I was told to be skinnier—and was always frustrated when I was told suddenly I was too thin. Where was the magic number that was just right? Decades later I have learned, though I sometimes forget, that there is no magic when it comes to scales.
And, although my story may be more pronounced, I struggle to name more than a few women who seem to have a healthy relationship with their bodies—who see them as wise allies and not something that must be wrangled into submission. The tricky thing about disordered eating is that it comes in all shapes and sizes—from the mom that is obsessed with “eating clean” to the eight-year-old girl who wants so badly to be thin but can’t figure out how to stop hiding Little Debbie’s Oatmeal Cookies under her bed. I should know—I have been both.
I would love to say that as I have grown older I have made peace with my body. That as I found my way out of addiction and into the things that I am truly passionate about, I was able to release my obsession with thinness. But that has not been the case.
Yet, over the years, I have tried to be honest and open about my struggles around disorder eating and body image. Because of this, people often ask me what they can do for people they love that share the same struggles. With each question, I find myself wondering if that ‘person they love’ is themselves; and if so, I am very proud of them. For those who question, here is what I would like to share—some things that have helped me personally along the way and some please-for-the-love-of-God-don’t dos. I write these just as much for myself as anyone else... to help me slowly replace the voices in my head that are in direct contradiction of the below and that often crave exactly what I am suggesting none of us do.
Installation photograph, featuring a detail of CARVING: 45 Years Later (2017) as seen in the exhibition Eleanor Antin: Time's Arrow, at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, May 12–July 28, 2019, © Eleanor Antin, courtesy of the artist and Ronald Feldman Gallery, New York, photo © Museum Associates/LACMA
Don’ts:
1) Stop complimenting women and girls on our smallness. (The other month my very cute doctor called me scrawny—he said it in a joking, somewhat complimentary way, but it was music to my disordered eating’s ears.) And, for each time you compliment our looks and our clothing, compliment our brains and our bravery three times more.
2) Resist oversimplifying—We live in a culture that tends to equate skinny with ‘healthy and good’ and carrying more weight as ‘lazy and bad.’ This is black-and-white thinking and just plain wrong. We all have different bodies and stories—the more we learn to accept and love our own, the less we feel the need to judge and change others.
3) Don’t comment on a person’s weight—period! It has been my experience that people take far more liberty remarking when my weight is on the way down than on the way up. Before important meetings, in rooms full of people, men have often said things like, ‘You are looking really fit—have you been running?’ No one has ever thrown me off my game by saying, ‘Wow, looks like you have really been hitting the mint chocolate chip,’ but both comments are inappropriate and unhelpful and have nothing to do with my abilities or my worth.
4) Don’t assume that disordered eating is only a challenge for women. Men, too, know what it is like to try to sculpt themselves into acceptability. Years ago, a person posted an interview with Anderson Cooper on Facebook, in which he shared that he ate his cereal with water, accompanied with the caption, “This proves my assumption that he is the vainest man alive.” One definition for vanity is “the quality of being worthless or futile.” I would offer another as “the fear of being futile and the grasping for societally defined beautify to prove one’s worth.” This definition seems far more loving and accurate to me. Also, please be careful with always complimenting boys and men on being big and strong... It is the reverse of complimenting girls on being small and delicate, and it contributes to the gender stereotypes that keep us all sick.
Dos:
1) When you get together with others—share your truth and not your latest diet. And, if a friend calls saying y’all have to run tomorrow because she just downed a pint of ice cream, tell her that sounds delicious and ask her what flavor. Then, suggest a nice walk in the morning so that you can really catch up.
2) If you notice a friend’s weight has changed drastically, call to ask them how their heart is—not to tell them that they don’t look good.
3) When you cook, make your plate as pretty, if not prettier than everyone else’s, and for goddess’ sake... invest in some gorgeous bowls and sit down with that ice cream. I have found that foods that I once deemed as “bad” and “dangerous” can be incredibly nourishing when I stop sneaking and allow myself to truly enjoy them.
4) Learn to trust yourself and your desires. Yes, check in with people you trust in case you are too close to the issue to gain accurate perspective; but, remember that you are the expert of your own body, and, subsequently, your own life.
Installation photograph, featuring !!! (2017) as seen in the exhibition Eleanor Antin: Time's Arrow, at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, May 12–July 28, 2019, © Eleanor Antin, photo © Museum Associates/LACMA
Forty-five years later, after losing her husband of 56 years, Eleanor Antin was inspired to revisit her CARVING series. “Since everything that mattered was being taken from me, I took something from me, too.. my flesh.” Together both works were shown in LACMA’s Eleanor Antin: Time’s Arrow exhibition. Each of Antin’s CARVING series were revolutionary in the art world... first as a pushing of the classic definition of sculpture, and later as a daring feat to show an older body to a world that fears aging. As she so aptly put it, “I consider the usual aids to self-definition—sex, age, talent, time and space—as tyrannical limitations upon my freedom of choice.”
For so many, the acceptability of our bodies and our worth have been intricately woven together—a tradition that has been passed down generation to generation and taught from day one. The problem is that the technique is fucked up. It takes away our power and our connection to our bodies and gives it to people who have long ago lost their power and connection to theirs. Each time we choose to put down a chisel and claim our value, a knot is loosened and we become unweavers of lies.