Adapted in TC: A reflection of one's own

Jan. 10—This year, people truly want a fresh start to their lives. For many, that includes the practice of making resolutions about their bodies, like losing weight, eating healthier and getting more exercise.

While thinking about people with disabilities and their bodies, I read "Golem Girl," the new memoir by Chicago artist, writer and curator, Riva Lehrer. Riva was born with spina bifida. The book features her self-portraits, as well as her portraits of people with varied disabilities. After reading her book, we spoke on the phone.

Now that the book was circulating, I wondered what surprised her.

"People like my writing more than I expected. They say the portraits are amazing but they don't really say much about the art."

That shocked me. Her art is in the National Portrait Gallery of the Smithsonian Museum, she has exhibited in countless shows and galleries, has been a longtime faculty member at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and instructor in medical humanities at Northwestern University. I find her art stunningly complex, magical and political. Few artists convey the beauty of difference as well as Riva.

I asked about the aim of her book.

"I wanted to profile a community that is vibrant, attractive and that you'd want to join. Discovering community is transformational. One of the greatest problems we have is that people don't want to identify as disabled. Disability community fosters our identity, encourages our cultural development and reflects the complexities of our experiences."

Her response reminded me of her description of "mirror hunger," the longing for a reflection one can claim as one's own. I thought of both individual and collective mirrors.

Like Riva, I believe that our most imaginative act is creating how we want to be in the world. People with disabilities epitomize the variety, the embodiment, of what it means to have a human body. In her book referencing the Golem, she says, "at some point we wake-up from the It to an I. We become our own creation."

Since my paralyzing stroke at 18, I've marveled at how well my body still works and moves through the world. I've developed a personal style, one that includes wearing beautiful stockings, often bought by my husband, to celebrate my legs. Everything about me, including my wheelchair, says "I exist."

However, like most people with disabilities, I've dealt with the starers who ask "Don't you wish you were normal?" I've also been seen as an object or compilation of parts. In my youth, acquaintances tried to mimic my doctors with the infamous "can you feel this now" pin prick tests. One partier even attempted to see if I could feel a match flame on my lower body. Incredulously, a doctor suggested cutting my foot off — "you don't use it anyway" — when I had circulation issues and another physician snipped several tendons in my ankle when I broke my leg saying, "it didn't matter, you're not going to walk."

Every day, people hide their aging, injured, ill bodies. They try to disconnect from their pain, scars, wrinkles, hair loss, fat and weaknesses. Is it any wonder that we don't really know what people actually look like?

In "Golem Girl," Riva offers the reader a deep experience of the variety of human bodies.

Contact Susan Odgers at odgersadapted@yahoo.com.

She is a 33-year resident of Traverse City and has been using a wheelchair for 44 years. She is a faculty member of Northwestern Michigan College and Grand Valley State University.

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