by Ashwini Bhasi
Artist Statement
Splintered I Wait explores the somatic experiences of chronic pain and disability caused by Temporomandibular Joint Disorder (TMD).
TMD is a chronic condition with severe pain, inflammation, and arthritic changes in the jaw joints. In many cases, the cartilage disc, located between the skull bone and the jawbone, that is vital for the smooth movement of the jaw, gets badly damaged. This leads to bone-on-bone grinding inside the jaw joint and triggers debilitating pain and discomfort such as facial spasms, jaw muscle disfunction, joint inflammation, migraines, shoulder and neck pain, and difficulty in speaking, laughing, talking, and even breathing.
Chronic pain is inherently complex, multidimensional, hyper-subjective and defiant of definitions. The suffering it causes requires a multimodal approach for translation. Splintered I Wait is an attempt to translate the lived experience of TMD through four interrelated frames:
(1) A drawing created through automatism while suffering from TMD pain
(2) Sequence fragments of the ADAMTS4 protein which is associated with jaw pain and disability
(3) A stream of consciousness “Sequencedarian” poem that incorporates the representative amino acids’ letters of the ADAMTS4 protein
(4) Audio recording and transcript of the sequencedarian
Emotions, bodily sensations, and perseverations triggered by a TMD flare-up episode were allowed to flow unfiltered from the limbic system to fingertips to create the shapes, colors, words and sounds of this hybrid piece. The process acted as a form of raw release of cellular memory—a way to override the limitations of the analytical brain and its inability to fully release unprocessed suffering trapped in the mind and body.
The sequence fragments pasted within the drawing belong to ADAMTS4 (ADAM metallopeptidase with thrombospondin type 1 motif 4). This protein is associated with TMD pain caused by jaw arthritis and internal derangement of the cartilage disc of the jaw joint.
In the midst of a TMD flare-up, the first 30 amino acids of ADAMTS4 protein (MSQTGSHPGRGLAG RWLWGAQPCLLLPIVP) were used to spontaneously write a sequencedarian poem into the nooks and crannies of the drawing. No editing or revision of lines were done. The aim was to preserve the raw integrity of the suffering.
While listening to the audio, viewers are invited to zoom into the image, view the details, and scroll around both vertically and horizontally to get the full experience of the work.
To access high resolution images and audio files of the work for in-depth viewing, listening, and exploration, please visit this Dropbox link.
Transcript of ‘Splintered I Wait’ with ADAMTS4 Sequencedarian
my right jaw joint bones / have eroded like two stones
rubbing on each other / grinding down pain / into pebbles
for me to swallow / blaming each other for the misery /
silent and splintering they wait.
splintered, i wait too / questioning the reality of unseen suffering.
/ is it real if unseen by the observer? /
tomorrow i go back /for lidocaine shots in my facial muscles, neck and shoulder /
/giving me
/ a short reprieve from pain. /
in a few days it will come back in full force / if i am lucky
it will last /
for two weeks or more / the lowering of suffering / from an 8 to a 5 / feels /
/ so joyous. / / a small space for me /
to cram in a normalcy / that fades very quickly / if i do too much
/ how do you map pain? / parse the incoherent strands of unseen suffering? / how do i /
present its shimmering eel like ferocity /
/ or its snail like dullness? /
/ my lips are pulled into an ugly spasm. /
/ go on
roll your eyes / yawn or look away. /i understand. / pain /
is like a rodent / scurrying in a sewer / go on
roll your eyes / you don’t want / the stench of the sewer /
or the dirty brown paws /on your mostly / healthy self.
listen to me/
blabbering incoherently / the analogies and metaphors / i throw at you
don’t make sense. /
a silly little attempt / to translate what i carry
/ in my body. /
give me a minute / i will wipe away / this grimace from my face, smile at you
and apologize
/ for this useless mess of words that i have made
here,
/ rest /
/ for another minute. /
my therapist, she asks me / who “you” are.
/ you are amorphous /
listen, you know / i fear / your every word. /
every action of mine / is haunted and taunted by / your voice
why can’t i / get rid of you? /
you are a contributor / to the cause and effect /
of chronic pain, / a stranger / inside me that is always criticizing / my every move.
/ you are amorphous /
why am i even talking to you? / this unseen mirror self / quilted into being /
by every abusive voice / and event that has harmed me?
part of my past and part of my present. / every action of mine is haunted / by your voice.
my right jaw joint / bones have eroded/ like two stones.
i close my eyes to tune you out / stay with the spasms in my right / jaw joint / the dull headache /
it has triggered.
i open my eyes.
i cannot stay / if i stay, i lose. / i will lose
myself. /
/ or so i fear. /
i know dissociation / is ultimately causing me
/ more harm than good. / i have already /
lived that reality / but i cannot stop. /
letting yourself be with the pain
/ feels /
/ dangerous /
i prefer to stay in my mind. leave my body / with its relentless production / of pain behind
/ for a while. /
this is how i /
/ survive /
i am a vagrant wandering /
farther and farther away /
from the prison of my pain / body. /
/ but that creates /
/ its own form of acute suffering. / please, i want to come back. / stay. /
/ sink like a stone / in the pleasure / of my pain free body. /
Note: The bolded letters are the first 30 amino acids from the ADAMTS4 protein (MSQTGSHPGRGLAGRWLWGAQPCLLLPIVP).
Ashwini Bhasi is a bioinformatician and interdisciplinary artist from Kerala, India. Her hybrid work merges scientific data, creative writing and visual art to explore the lived experience of chronic illness and disability. She is the first author of multiple peer-reviewed research articles that address the growing need for user-centered design of software for scientific discovery. A Tin House alumnus, Ashwini is the recipient of the Shaw Memorial Poetry Prize from Dunes Review, a Good Hart Artist Residency, a Voices of Color Fellowship from Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing, and a Room Project Fellowship. Her work can be found in Michigan Quarterly Review, DIAGRAM, Honey Literary, RHINO, Kweli, The Offing, and elsewhere. Musth, the winner of the 2020 CutBank chapbook contest, is her first poetry collection.