Alternative Perceptions to the Statistical Norm
Exhibited at Milk Studio October 2005
When we experience symptoms, or rather something that feels unusual to our bodily norm, whether it be physical or mental, we usually seek out a knowledge holder of the body. In the case of atypical mental states we seek out psychiatrists or psychologists to help us navigate ourselves, hopefully, back to a more personally normative cerebral feeling. The doctor or therapist listens to our confession of abnormality and how we may have happened upon our symptoms and we in turn hope, with the help of her/his Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV (DSM-IV), that she/he will be able to give a diagnosis and a treatment plan. We confess our secrets of our inadequate mental state admitting everything possible that might have led us to this current condition. If it’s a successful confession then the diagnosis will help us to cope with the personal abnormality we are immediately dealing with telling us we aren’t alone in our experience. In return for exposing our naked mental self we expect no less than a concrete diagnosis. A serious dilemma occurs when there is no solid verdict. Instead, if our experience is diagnosed as an anomaly we are left feeling isolated, alone, and normless. We may end up reading lists of ailments in the DSM-IV’s catalog of symptoms hoping that enough of them fit our current state to make the process a little less anomic. We may have even suspended our critiquing ability during the process of potential diagnosis in an effort to possibly feel normal once more.
During the past two years I experienced sensations that no one else could hear, feel, or see. The experience was very intense with over 100 distinct voices talking to me, sometimes nice sometimes not. I felt electrical like surges through my body and could feel something touching me as well as things moving around me whether I was sitting on the couch or lying in bed. Visually, holographic like images that looked like friends and family moved and talked around me; when I closed my eyes I could see light objects that were very similar to the holographic images. My psychiatrist didn’t offer a clear verdict. Feeling isolated and desperate, I hesitantly gave myself the label of schizophrenic, although I lacked a lot of the symptoms needed for that diagnosis. After recently rereading a friend’s email, which is on the wall, I began to rethink my self-given label. I had wanted so desperately to have a successful diagnosis, since then I could have a successful treatment. I allowed my critiquing self back in and decided to not allow myself the term schizophrenic and instead I decided that I was having alternative perceptions to the statistical norm. The problem wasn’t the confessional itself, but how I had internalized my role as the confessor seeking an understandable diagnosis for the effort put into confessing.
The installation has three parts. The sculpture represents the electrical like surges I felt. The auditory component relives moments the voices spoke to me. The third is the text on the wall, which is an email from a friend critiquing the process of labeling. The installation is oddly enough part confession and part critique in itself since the sculpture and voice over stand in for myself confessing to all that see and hear it and the email acts as an active critique to the process.
When we experience symptoms, or rather something that feels unusual to our bodily norm, whether it be physical or mental, we usually seek out a knowledge holder of the body. In the case of atypical mental states we seek out psychiatrists or psychologists to help us navigate ourselves, hopefully, back to a more personally normative cerebral feeling. The doctor or therapist listens to our confession of abnormality and how we may have happened upon our symptoms and we in turn hope, with the help of her/his Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV (DSM-IV), that she/he will be able to give a diagnosis and a treatment plan. We confess our secrets of our inadequate mental state admitting everything possible that might have led us to this current condition. If it’s a successful confession then the diagnosis will help us to cope with the personal abnormality we are immediately dealing with telling us we aren’t alone in our experience. In return for exposing our naked mental self we expect no less than a concrete diagnosis. A serious dilemma occurs when there is no solid verdict. Instead, if our experience is diagnosed as an anomaly we are left feeling isolated, alone, and normless. We may end up reading lists of ailments in the DSM-IV’s catalog of symptoms hoping that enough of them fit our current state to make the process a little less anomic. We may have even suspended our critiquing ability during the process of potential diagnosis in an effort to possibly feel normal once more.
During the past two years I experienced sensations that no one else could hear, feel, or see. The experience was very intense with over 100 distinct voices talking to me, sometimes nice sometimes not. I felt electrical like surges through my body and could feel something touching me as well as things moving around me whether I was sitting on the couch or lying in bed. Visually, holographic like images that looked like friends and family moved and talked around me; when I closed my eyes I could see light objects that were very similar to the holographic images. My psychiatrist didn’t offer a clear verdict. Feeling isolated and desperate, I hesitantly gave myself the label of schizophrenic, although I lacked a lot of the symptoms needed for that diagnosis. After recently rereading a friend’s email, which is on the wall, I began to rethink my self-given label. I had wanted so desperately to have a successful diagnosis, since then I could have a successful treatment. I allowed my critiquing self back in and decided to not allow myself the term schizophrenic and instead I decided that I was having alternative perceptions to the statistical norm. The problem wasn’t the confessional itself, but how I had internalized my role as the confessor seeking an understandable diagnosis for the effort put into confessing.
The installation has three parts. The sculpture represents the electrical like surges I felt. The auditory component relives moments the voices spoke to me. The third is the text on the wall, which is an email from a friend critiquing the process of labeling. The installation is oddly enough part confession and part critique in itself since the sculpture and voice over stand in for myself confessing to all that see and hear it and the email acts as an active critique to the process.