Luci Busch

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1. Relief

2019.

Latex, dye, human body

2. With and Without

2020

Cast iron, wire, patina, human body

3. Exhumed

2020.

Latex, dye, human body

4. Exhumed

2020.

Latex, dye, human body

5. Exhumed

2020.

Latex, dye, human body

6. Not the Same But That’s Okay

2020

Paraffin wax, latex, dye

 

7. What You Almost Took From Me

2020

Glass, wire, paraffin wax, paper, fire

I still feel their touch, hands that gripped me too tight, lips that didn’t ask permission. I hear all the voices, screaming obscenities and whispers of manipulation. Some memories replay like a movie reel on repeat, over and over again I can’t make it stop. Fuck this, I’m taking back control of myself, I will never belong to them again. I’m not theirs anymore. I want to reclaim myself, by whatever means necessary. I’m not their casualty.

 

There’s a violence in taking everything back, tearing it all downand rebuilding from the remains. The violence and uneasiness is replicated in my work. I want the materials I use, latex for flesh, iron for weight and personal walls, glass for all the broken pieces, wax for the shell of myself that I’m slowly putting back together, and my own body. The body that all these stories are about, the body that can’t forget but needs to move on. The process of building up, taking apart, and putting back together again. Transformation of one material to another. I don’t want this to look easy and painless. But if I want to be far away from where I am now, then this is what it’s going to take.

 

I want to talk about how I’m still living in past trauma. With this body of work, I am reconciling through past trauma. I’ve held onto my pain, clinging to my damaged parts like it’s all I have left. I haven’t been able to shed it like a skin although I’ve tried. Or have I really tried? I’m still angry, scared, hurt. I tried to bury it deep down, forget it existed and when it was dredged back up like a corpse I pretended to ignore the decaying flesh, my decaying self, and ran away. I’m still allowing the past to eat away at me, and I’ve finally had enough. I don’t want this anymore, I want to lay it all to rest.

 

I’m so tired of this victim trend. I’m more than the tragedies that have occured in my life. But why do I have to focus on the hurt, why is there this refusal to move on from it? It's like I would rather stay in the same place, in the same trauma because at least it’s something I can identify. Parade around and hold tightly because what am I if I move on. I’ve adjusted to it, comfortable in it and don’t know how to relate to anyone if I’m not miserable. Fuck that. I can do better, I am better.