A little bit broken
-- Mortality Series --
1200mm (w) x 1200mm (h) canvas.
5cm thick (double-thick canvas) and wrap around edging.
Acrylic, spray paint and ink on stretched primed canvas.
Signed and dated.
Ready to hang with d-rings and hanging wire on the back.
Each artwork comes with an essential oils card on the back which is infused with Revive ‘Courage’ oil. This is the oil my therapist gives me to help calm me down. It’s a beautiful blue which inspired the colour palette in the artworks.
The artworks represent the emotions I have moved through in the last ten months while investigating an abdominal tumour. The matt blue area symbolises the part of me that everyone sees. It’s my working life. My life on social media. The friends I see and hug and say ‘I’m doing great’. Everyone at the gym and basketball. The other side of the painting is my private life. My emotion and turmoil. It’s all the things I’m hiding and keeping to myself. It’s the fear of weakness and vulnerability. It’s what I don’t want my son to see. I don’t want him to see how scared I am. Typographically each work depicts the primary emotion I was feeling at the time: alone, empty and broken.
This is an original painting. Artwork comes with certificate of authenticity and Sarah Sculley promotional goods, professionally packed for shipping (included in price). If you live outside of Australia, please get in touch to discuss delivery options.
The biopsy samples came back inconclusive. I guess crying hysterically on the operating table doesn’t make it easy to blindly take three samples of a tumour the doctor can’t see. The specialist decided that a second biopsy was the best move. I disagreed but I compromised and said I’d do a second biopsy if I could have general anaesthetic. It was a lot easier. As this wasn’t my first rodeo, I put dibs on my sandwich choice with the nurses before I went in. I let the doctor know I was happy for him to take 1000 samples, and if a large number of them could be fat samples, I wouldn’t be sad. I had lined up my after-surgery churros from GYGs. My mum was here this time to hold my hand. I was ready to get this shitty 6 months of my life over with. The biopsy went well. Nine samples. All of them came back as Ganglioneuroma. The same cancer I had as a kid. We don’t know how it metastasised. We don’t know why it started growing as I’d had following up CT scans my entire life (up until 2014). But it was there. It is wrapped around my ureter of my only kidney. It is wrapped around the main vein into my leg. It is pushing up against my spine. It is not welcome. The good news is, it is not a Ganglioneuroblastoma. It’s a benign tumour. It still grows, but more like a fat person squeezing into a airline chair rather than aggressively eating all the chairs like a malignant tumour would do. A small part of me feels broken. I feel a little bit fragile. Have I done this to myself? I’m angry at my body. I’m frustrated I can’t control this situation. I’m scared that the tumour could become malignant at any time. It could push on my spine or it could squeeze the ureter and force emergency surgery. I’m angry this is happening to me. I feel guilty for being so upset about all of this because I know so many people are going through worse. I feel alone. Very scared. But right now, all I can do is live the best life I can. Travel, spend time with the boys, work less, create more, set up my legacy so that when I do pass, I won’t be forgotten.