Mirror, Mirror

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?

Little Moments

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.

Two Attempts

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.