Sick Art

How do we measure our health?

How do we measure our wellness?

How do we measure our levels of sickness?

What does one do with over 300 empty plastic pill bottles?

What does one do with over 150 empty vials & syringes?

What does one do with the remnants of $100,000 worth of medications and procedures?

What can one do while in 5 hour long chemo treatments - a total of 60 times (300 hours)?

Why do we manufacture strong containers that carry medicine to weak bodies?

Why can't we focus on healing instead of fighting insurance claims and killing ourselves at work in an effort to stay alive one more day?

How do we tell the story of our struggles?

How do we heal?

Learn to love trash.

Start to refuse.

Amy Coney Barrett SCOTUS Confirmation Hearing (October 2020)

ARTIST STATEMENT
Felicia T Perez “Lucha”
"Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable." — Cesar Cruz

On December 18, 2012, I was 36 years old and sitting in a doctor’s office learning that either I had a rare eye cancer with up to 5 years left to live, or an equally rare and incurable autoimmune disorder that would result in a long-term chronic illness. Idiopathic orbital pseudotumor with a cranial extension, would soon be a phrase I would learn to memorize along with, I am allergic to azathioprine. Since then, I have had 11 rounds of radiation to my brain and right eye. I was on an average of 90 milligrams of prednisone for five years with an experimental IVIG transfusion. As a result, I now have pernicious anemia from the medicines I’ve taken and have to inject B12 into my leg every three weeks. I've had cataract surgery in both eyes due to all the meds. And I am post menopausal at an early age because it turns out chemo kills your ovaries. My immune system is constantly compromised because not letting my body fight itself is how I stay alive and keep full eye and brain function.

In a reverse Hansel and Gretel strategy, I collect all of my medical refuse and use it as the material for mixed media art that attempts to show and tell what it’s like to live a life that is so overwhelmingly surrounded by death and life simultaneously. Just what is "still here" despite or in spite of life starting to slip away and transform itself.

The art I create is a physical "call and response" of items, emotions, events, and people from the moment when my first eye/brain tumor was discovered to the present day. You’ll notice the routines of actions, the repetition of items, and the absence and presence of certain people and things. I hint and foreshadow how this life story may end and what it will require along the way. The art is largely covered in colors of blue (like a robin’s egg) and/or orange (like marigold flowers) to show the constant contrast between life and death.

Looking at and through this work may deliberately feel uncomfortable for those who have never lived through or witnessed a life full of continual medical care and resilience. And those who have shared this life experience, whether through illness or chronic caregiving, may find comfort in seeing their lives reflected back to them, by design. It is my hope that by seeing this work the viewer will begin, or may continue, to reflect on what they would like to remain with them or with others once our body won't or can't hold us anymore.

PERSONAL UPDATE:
In May 2022, I finished my 60th chemotherapy infusion and a month later contracted the Covid-19 virus--despite 4 Moderna full does vaccinations and an Evusheld infusion. My chemo medication reduced my immune system's response to the COVID-19 vaccine because it affects the body's ability to keep antibodies. In a nutshell - one medicine killed the other - my chemo killed the antibodies from the vaccines. Something had to give. So in August 2022, my doctors and I decided to take a chance, a risk, a leap of faith, and stop all chemo interventions and hope that my "clinically stable" diagnosis might stick. Earlier this week a new doctor warned of possible early signs of lung cancer...or maybe just a severe lung infection since we still can't fight back too hard yet. I still wear a mask on planes. I still wear a mask in stores. I still wear a mask when outside (the smoke in the air gives it multiple purposes #ThisMustBeASign). I still feel different from you. For now, I am still here. La Lucha Continua.