Last week I spent two quiet nights at my daughter Isabel’s house–hanging around, playing with the baby. We were all under the weather. Our guys were elsewhere–working. We did not much of anything, watching romantic comedies and eating passable leftover Chinese food.
Then Isabel said, I need to smash our box with a hammer but I don’t want to do it alone. Let’s go down in the basement and hit it.
Oh, OK, I said.
But I thought–we’re going to smash the box? I didn’t know that.
But not wanting to seem a behind the curve boomer I followed her down the stairs and put on protective eye wear.
The box is the sculptural element in a piece we’re working on. It will be filled/covered in sonograms and text.
I thought to myself: I wish she’d said “alter” not “smash.
But smash we did.
Eventually scratch, gouge, and stamp. The box’s named appears to be TIAMAT–that primordial goddess of rapid and disconcerting transformation.