Frankenstein was the Doctor
This photograph is a self-portrait; I am nude and painted head to toe in green paint with a costume store Frankenstein hat on my head. In the image, I am 39 weeks pregnant. Depending on who you speak to when you say the name “Frankenstein,” they will either think of the doctor or the monster. This conflation of identity also lends itself to a conflation of responsibility. Is the doctor at fault for his hubris for bringing the monster into the world, or is the monster at fault for his actions and violence? When I found out that I was pregnant with a boy, I was terrified about my ability to raise a white male in American culture. Throughout my pregnancy, I thought a lot about the character of Norma Bates in relation to this idea. The mother in the film Psycho, she is often cast as the monster despite being dead for the duration of the film. Even when this final twist is revealed at the end of the film, it never results in a transference of blame. Despite being a corpse, the film implies she is still at fault for Norman, the real killer’s actions, because of her lousy job at raising him. Despite the injustice I feel on behalf of Norma, it doesn’t extradite me from the responsibility I feel not to raise the kind of man who will fade into the folds of toxic masculinity and violence in American culture.
The physical version of this piece is printed on a satin fabric. The folds from the image being shipped are still visible in the installation, a serendipitous kind of failure. The image includes a peek of an ironing board, a nod to stereotypical notions of motherhood.
