At first she was just a stick figure, a cardstock cutout made for a scene in an animated short in which she stands on a train track and reaches out while her father walks away from her. Her cameo was to last two or three seconds at most.
Almost immediately though, she demanded more screen time. She pushed her way into another scene in the short where artwork was parading right to left: without warning there she was, marching along between two works at the end, shoving the one ahead of her when she got impatient. I told my friend Leif about this, that I hadn’t known she’d be in the scene until she showed up, and he replied, “LOL sure.” But she wasn’t supposed to be part of the scene — my hand reached for her and put her in, as if at her insistence, as if I had no control. I sent the resulting clip to another friend with the caption, “Punk ass kid showed up in the sequence hahaha.”
At that moment, Lil’ Punk Ass, the animated character, was born. She showed up again in the end credits of “Art Therapy”, and had her own “feature” in the animated Christmas card I sent to my family in 2020. I understand now that she’s a representation of my inner child, and that she and I will be working together for years to come as I relearn how to tell my own stories.
This week, she decided she would like to be something a little more substantial than a collection of Sharpie-coloured cutouts. She wanted to be a doll. I tell you, I have no say in these things! LPA is pretty demanding — which should probably tell me something about myself, right?
As doll births go, LPA’s was complicated. She rejected her first body entirely; she didn’t like the way her arms and legs were attached; she refused to hold her head up once her trademark ponytail was in place. After some kicking and screaming — okay, that was mostly me — and a lot of stitching, she finally settled down and became the beauty pictured here.
The birth was also mostly done by a process I’ve come to call intuitive dollmaking. Using this process, I draw the pattern very quickly on brown paper (or whatever’s to hand), following the doll’s guidance as I try to take my rational mind out of the equation. I then cut the cloth pieces almost as quickly, cutting about a quarter inch around the pattern pieces so that there’s room for stitching. This is actually a very liberating process, because none of the usual rules apply. Perfect seam allowances? Optional. Straight lines? Nobody cares. Perfect symmetry? That’s just boring anyway. You may be asking why she doesn’t have a face, but you tell me: can you tie your own inner child down to just one facial expression? I didn’t think so. She has a heart, and that’s what matters.
My job as dollmaking midwife is to bring into the world the doll that’s waiting, not someone’s ideal doll, not even my own ideal doll. Airy fairy? Maybe. But the process works. Lil’ Punk Ass the doll is exactly the perfectly imperfect doll she’s meant to be, and I think she’s waiting to teach me to love my own perfectly imperfect self.
And she probably needs a hug, right about now.
Previous
Next