I look upon their frozen faces and wonder what they are thinking. Are dolls inherently use to being loved and abandoned? I hate that word and all that goes with it. I haven’t quite abandoned them, they are not in boxes in the cupboard. But I have developed a weird distance to them. As if they all held memories that I no longer wish to experience.
Living in Scotland has changed me fundamentally. Or aging has. Or the combination. I have sort of lost recognition of myself. The mirror shows a completely different face than the one I have known. I mused over the thought that if I could gaze into the mirror of myself at say, 7 years of age, would I recognise myself any better? And so perhaps this longing to recognise what I once knew as me is what I am attempting to do with my dolls. If I cannot see myself, how can I possibly see them?
I am stopping by the dresser with all the dolls sitting on top of,rather regularly now. Still looking into each of their still faces and hoping to see a spark, a connection…something. Some are not even dressed. I muse that even that strangeness is not enough for me to dig through the dressers filled with their clothes and accessories even to dress them. I wonder why? Perhaps if I visit often enough, some sort of lost connection will re-connect? All I can do is hope.
I have been trying, slowly, a bi methodically I guess. I first picked up my Evie and put some eyes in and hair. It took all of 2 seconds to remember the wonky legs at the knees. The flipped an twisted around as I was putting in the eyes and the frustration was mounting. Surprisingly, I found a temporary solution that never occurred to me before, I cut two fingers off a rubber glove and pulled them over her knees and it not only kept her knees in place, but also to bend to sit. I was pleased that the idea worked, but two yellow knees bands were rather unsightly. Sigh.
Evie’s face was forlorn, more than I could bear. Guilt was certainly a silly but real emotion I was feeling while I gazed at her. All that we had been through together, the travels, the adventures. And now I was not sure who she was. Or maybe I was not sure who I have become.
I set her back on the doll sofa after a couple of days and picked up the large bjd, the one I had such hopes for, but she never had the chance to blossom. As I lifted her up and felt the heft of her resin weight, she flopped against my shoulder and I was touched by the gesture. Was this a signal? A hint? a touch a fate? I studied her face, she was in sore need of a faceup. And in the time I have had her, I never so much as made her a single dress. She was wrapped in a newborn japanese robe and old cotton slip. A rush of guilt about that too. Such a beauty and I have done nothing with her.
I kept her next to me on my desk, but after a few days of noting how terribly small her head is to her body and neck, I became annoyed and set her back on her designated chair in the doll room. I am still determined to re-connect, but not sure how. Can’t force it, it has to come on it’s own. Until then, I will write about it.