Hoda Zarbaf’s art was quite interesting.
I just read on Instagram that she has recently passed away and was struck by this sculpture, so I looked her up and spent a little bit of time looking at her art pieces.
Most of the work is more intense than this one, though they are definitely worth seeing, and the mixed media creations often have a lot of joy in them. (And a lot of other emotions.)
The integration of fabric and other harder material into bodies’ forms strikes a chord with me. I have two knit/crocheted “foobs” that I sometimes wear when I want to look balanced and each foob was made by a different dear friend.
(My inclination right now is that I don’t really want to care if being unabashedly one-boobed is too weird for public, but I do care about making people feel uncomfortable. That has led me to thinking about how much we humans respond to minor lapses/differences in bilateral symmetry much less signifant deformities. But those are musings for another time.)
I’ve been thinking about how powerful it is to have a prosthesis so close to my heart that embodies the woven connections I feel with all those humans out in the world that I’ve gotten to interact with, to love a little.
And I have been thinking about how lovely it is to have my broken parts patched by the hands of my friends.
Hoda Zarbaf, particularly this sculpture, evokes aspects of the feelings I have when thinking about our ersatz and yet somehow beautiful amalgamated selves.