The below passages were originally composed in the Spring of 2007. Revised Spring 2009.

check out more photos of the Identity Project on Flickr!

History

For six years, I allowed emotional demons to drive my life and ultimately break down my relationships with others, specifically those with my family. Proudly, I announce that this marks my first full year of stability. It has been a year spent salvaging friendships and, most importantly, reconnecting with my mother, father and brother. This has been my year of healing. This has been my year of hope.

Art has always served as a means of therapy for me. Because my pieces always tend to center around one intensely personal subject matter, it has been a treat enjoyed only privately. Coming into this course (Art 305: Art in Public Places), I knew that I would struggle with sharing my work. I don’t feel comfortable opening myself up to just anybody; if anyone at all! I knew that the piece I would create would tie into my recurring theme of disordered living. Would I be up for such an emotional challenge? So public a display of my innermost struggles?

Construction

Construction of Identity was nothing short of a family affair. It served as a means to reunite with my mother and father; beginning conversation about my past struggles and challenges—a new phenomenon. In this sense, the process was nothing short of priceless.

Physically, the process was both long and challenging. There were times when I could not sleep because I wanted to be working on the piece or was worried about how we would possibly pull it off. Other times were spent hating the piece and picking apart its flaws.

The build was nothing short of a love-hate relationship. It was thrilling to witness the fruition of a concept — frightening seeing a painful past take 3-dimensional form. We encountered several challenges throughout the construction process, but ultimately, Identity was beautiful despite its many defects.

The Poem

Begun in 2001, I wrote the first half of this poem while experiencing the most emotionally and physically challenging months of my life. It put voice to my self-hatred; and was an explanation of how my choices, sorrow and depression affected those I most loved. The response, written with the original intention of standing alone several months later, I wrote while still in deep pain. It was my way of acknowledging the help I required to regain a stronger foothold in life. After completing the response, I realized how perfectly the two poems fit together and thus combined them under one name: Inner (later renamed Identity).

As I continued to struggle internally, I often used these poems in various art pieces I worked on through high school. Two inspirational teachers of mine, Sarah Cardiff and Susan Gleason, encouraged me to continue my works. It was their recognition to my sensitive situation and knowledge of art’s healing power that convinced me to continue the Identity series.

The tradition continues, nearly six years later, with an addition to the Identity collection—a memorial to time spent in pain and struggle and time that I wished I would have instead shared with others … time otherwise spent focusing on my selfish disorder.

You can’t stop, yet haven’t begun
You can’t stay, but neither come
You hate it all, yet it’s still all fun
You’re finished but you’re never done.

Your trying harder makes you lose
Bad choices lost your chance to choose
The smile on your face is just a ruse
I’d never walk a mile in your shoes.

Dumb of all the prices you’ve paid
Blind of all mistakes you’ve made
Unaware of all the lives you’ve frayed
Unknowing your spirit has flown away.

You cry when the world can’t see
Hide emotions there inside you deep
You’d never show your inner grief
Locked away love, threw away the key.

I’d tell you it’s okay to cry
To get back up, always try
I’d tell you again why people lie
And not to let your spirit die.

I’d show you there’s another way
I wouldn’t let you throw life away
I’d convince you it would be okay
That it’s worth seeing another day.

I’d hold you and let you weep
Build you up, piece by piece
I’d help you accept your living grief
Help you turn over a new leaf.

I’d love you like there were no tomorrow
Hold you through your pain and sorrow
Lend my life for you to borrow
As I fill in your heart so hollow

RFros 2001

Through My Father’s Eyes

I love to recharge my batteries running through Meadowbrook Park, along the adjoining fields and through the forest nearby. There are several sculptures along my route, and I can envision my daughter’s Identity tucked into a corner of the park; perhaps in the Timpone Tree grove.

Identity conveys a message of struggle and triumph for a daughter and her parents! Hidden within its curves is the story of a young woman’s struggle with an eating disorder and its effect on her family. I find that Identity speaks to my personal struggle with fear. Having experienced the impact of a religion-based non-relationship with my mother and sisters, I was determined not to let anything come between me and my dear daughter. The making of Identity marks a daughter’s and father’s discovery of each other as adults. It is a tribute to a daughter’s unending love for her parents. It testifies to the power of unconditional parental support. For this reason it is fitting that construction and display of the sculpture became a family affair.

On a late winter morning Renata approached Janet and I with her idea. She showed us a laptop computer sketch of her proposed sculpture. Her enthusiasm was infectious. We did a trial run that same day, laboriously marking 12” x 12” squares on scrap styrofoam. With spare cardboard and masking tape we pieced together a rudimentary section of wall. On that Sunday we got a first taste of the enormity of her project! Through it all, I experienced a stone-by-stone strengthening of relational bonds.

I am a designer and builder. Even though I have years and years of residential construction experience to draw upon, Renata’s project proved to be challenging. The sculpture had to be somewhat water resistant. It had to be transportable and easily assembled on site. It had to stand on its own; even withstanding the strong winds of an early Midwest Spring. This last condition proved to be the most challenging. Though supported internally with foam ribs and externally, with metal rods, the gusty winds on display day threatened to wreck the project! Thankfully a friend helped us prop up the structure with heavy metal supports.

As darkness blanketed the University of Illinois campus, Renata, Mark, Janet, Daniel and I stacked those many sections of the sculpture onto my trailer. Next day, relieved but a bit sad to be trashing a work of art, I drove through town on my way to the local disposal site. A rough looking man stepped from his giant garbage-scooping machine and asked me,

“What is that?”
“A work of art,” I replied.
He walked over and took a closer look. “Hmmm … strange poem … these university people!”, he muttered.

He climbed into the cab, scooped up and hauled off a priceless treasure.

We have photos to commemorate the project. Yet I have something greater than photos can convey: I have gained a deeper understanding and appreciation for what my daughter went through. Though we both struggled with different fears, she and I have discovered each other in new ways. May this sculpture serve as encouragement to other parents. May it bring peace to the wounded heart. May it strengthen relational bonds and serve as a beacon of hope.

Melchior Fros, Spring 2007

Lately, I’ve found myself buried under an unexpected avalanche of freelance jobs, planning for an upcoming move to another glorious Chicago apartment and enjoying intense training sessions at the gym. While all these things are fantastic distractions from the phenomenon known as “a good night’s rest,” I am really starting to feel drained. Time to take a step back and relax, I suppose.

And what better time of year than to do just that: Spring has officially settled in for the long-haul here in Chicago. Street-side flowers and trees are blooming, the sun is shining and finally—finally—winter coats can be put into deep storage. It’s been such a pleasure heading out to lunch with coworkers and being able to thoroughly enjoy our walks to and from our gluttony-evoking destinations. Experiencing the warm sun gently brush your face as you stretch your legs from being cooped up in the office all morning is unfailingly therapeutic. I’ve even been taking extra time on my way home from work (now that it’s still light out post-5PM, why not?) to stop by for a quick jaunt through the park or a make a quick visit to the Buckingham Fountain.

Because tomorrow’s weather is not slated to be quite so glorious as today’s, I plan on heading over to the Shedd Aquarium with a friend. I’m trying to remember the last time I was there … some time in junior high, perhaps? Regardless, it’s been awhile and should be a treat to check out.

Worth noting: last week marked my younger brother’s 20^th birthday, which a week and a half later remains a wild concept to grasp. No more teenagers for my parentals; congrats, Mama and Papa Fros on keeping us alive and well! Though I’m not so far away in age, Daniel’s completion of teen-dom makes me feel old. (And is a reminder that I still have yet to fulfill my duty as an older sister and serve as his source of corruption; the kid is angelic!) It seems like just yesterday that Daniel was attending prom and mom and I were overwhelming him with photo-ops. Daniel will always remain the innocent, 5-foot-nothing younger brother of his early years in my mind—no matter how gargantuanally-tall he grows to be. (He’s at 6’4” and counting, I believe … eek!)

Bye, bye cavities … you’re about to get swept away by the tastiest of dental resources!

(Sidenote: no, Colgate did not pay me to write this glowing review.)

Related, I’m also working on a Galleriffic WP plugin. Right now, I have a modified version of the NextGen plugin working with Galleriffic, but I’m not fully satisfied with it yet. Stay tuned!

I’m finally making some decent progress (400-odd pages down, 800+ to go), so it’s only befitting I share a small excerpt. This gem comes from relatively early on: a flashback to their late teen years, Francisco is addressing Dagny (perhaps when I quit procrastinating I’ll actually jot down a proper citation).

Dagny, there’s nothing of ay importance in life—except how well you do your work. Nothing. Only that. Whatever else you are, will come from that. It’s the only measure of human value. All the codes of ethics they’ll try to ram down your throat are just so much paper money put out by swindlers to fleece people of their virtues. The code of competence is the only system of morality that’s on a gold standard.

Atlas Shrugged is my favorite-most book I’ve had the pleasure to read. Going through it again, as I am now, is just as rewarding if not more so. I am by no means well-read, but I do appreciate thoughtful and significant works—especially ones such as this that speak so strongly to my own approach to life.

I’d you haven’t had the chance to read Atlas Shrugged, I would strongly encourage you to consider it. Atlas Shrugged is not an experience to enter into lightly—be prepared to think, to thoroughly evaluate your own life and role in the grand scheme and glory that is a capitalist nation … and if nothing else, be prepared to enjoy a thrilling, complex plot that will challenge you.

Happy weekend, everyone!

These are the times when I best live up to my blonde hair. Fingers crossed this fourth lock is the final one I buy for a good while!

You’ve likely guessed by now (because the title is certainly no give-away): my precious two-year-old 17” MacBook Pro was on its deathbed this weekend. Refusing to click anywhere I’d direct it to, the sickly machine would instead randomly select and open things on its own. Watching it die—one malfunction after another—was emotionally trying and, as its caretaker, I must say that I failed miserably …

“Please open iTunes,” I’d morosely beg, knowing full well that my MacBook would instead remain hovered on the HD desktop icon and would later open 20 new folder windows in response to my frantic and unsuccessful clicking. And by “clicking” I mean having to squeeze the trackpad region to [hopefully] align whatever was out of touch internally and then forcefully pound the clicker, knowing full well there was only a ten percent chance anything would happen—desired response or otherwise. My baby was sick, yet all I felt was intense anger.

What? My computer is my life.

And so I was hurt; I was scared. It was frightening to realize that the machine I rely so heavily upon was failing.

My MacBook is my portal to absolutely everything:

it is my means of staying connected with friends and family

how I keep entertained (hello, I also have no TV!)

what I use for all my freelance work and, simply,

it is mine.

This MacBook was the first big purchase that I made wholly by myself; the first thing for which I felt the love and pride of total ownership and here it was dying because I had inevitably done something to kill it.

So after three days of complete depression over the matter, I decided to finally take action. I made an appointment with the GeniusBar at the Apple Store on Michicagn Ave for that evening (Sunday) and waited in antsy anticipation as the day slowly inched towards my appointment time and I grew more and more nervous. It also hit me that I’d likely be shelling out a good amount of money. Several hundred? One thousand? Two? I mean, this is definitely my fault—surely the dent from where I dropped this lovely piece of technology a year and a half ago has finally caught up with me! Shit, should I just buy a new computer?

Five o’clock rolls around and my friend who was visiting for the weekend is nice enough to give me a ride to the store on his way out of the city. I sit in the passenger seat trying to hold my nerves together and not appear like a total maniac as I’m going through a full-blast internal freakout. We arrive at the store, say our goodbyes, and I head upstairs.

I’m twenty minutes early, but this is ultimately for the better because I’m so shaken that I can’t form proper sentences and need the extra time to compose myself. Finally, my slot rolls around and before I know it I’m talking to one of the Geniuses. The guy glances at my computer as I rattle off useless information. I crack an awkward joke that I’m not the “abusive owner” I appear to be, he responds with a courtesy laugh and walks away to grab a small box. It’s a battery. He swaps it with my current one …

Et voila. Magic. That was ALL it took.

Some battery part had a meltdown, which led to the whole issue. The genius grabs all the necessary paperwork and casually mentions that I’m really lucky that nothing ever came of the dent damage I had inflicted to the casing since it’s right where the hard drive sits. Ummm, awesome! I sign, initial and date in all the appropriate areas. I ask where I pay for the new battery. He smiles. Luckily, the fluky battery meltdown is a known issue and so replacement = FREE.

And so. What could have been the most horrid (and expensive!) weekend of my time spent thus far in Chicago actually turned out just fine.

It goes without needing to mention, but too bad:
Apple rocks. Spread the love!

I’m lucky to live just under a mile from work and the walks to and from are my favoritemost parts of the day. Today’s sunrise reminded me of an earlier day this January (the 15th, I believe)—just as the weather was turning impossible (negative degree temperatures … before windchill was factored in). I was lucky enough to capture a photo of the river that day; wish I were conscious enough to take one this morning!