The Veil

I’ve been thinking a lot about innocence and its connotations. Innocence, if you have a thesaurus handy, frequently couples with the word “purity,” which associates with being abstinent, or being perfect in nature, indicative of the heavenly realm. My pocket journal is stuffed with words I’ve jotted down and their definitions, the most recent are “dovetail” and “virginal.” The former a biblical symbol (Noah’s ark) and the latter a biblical principal. Having grown up in the Christian church, I was taught that only through God are we fully cleansed of our sins (purified) and also told that without him we’re all inherently broken and filthy. And I’m noticing now, in my early 20s, that this has had a lasting impact on the way I see myself.

In searching pinterest I happened upon a section of stone sculptures manipulated to look like soft material: sheets delicate like mosquito netting, waves and wrinkles like clay. Antonio Corradini’s, Bust of a Veiled Woman, stood out among the rest, a marble sculpture that completely metamorphosizes the material to look transparent, revealing a woman’s face beneath a veil. It’s visually striking at first glance, the lines he creates of loose garments hung on a bare chest. Sensual and evocative of some of the thoughts I’ve been working through. Recently I’ve felt like a beautiful, wilted thing.

A drive out to the desert the other day included a couple acres of ranches and empty stretches of land. Amidst the dust I caught sight of cattle, goats, and on one occasion, wild horses. I’ve claimed them as my favorite animal since I was a girl and so stumbling upon them out here felt ethereal. I stood on my knees in the bottom rail of the fence that marked the land, propping myself up with my elbows to muse. I listened to the whistling hot wind on cracked earth. A snort from one of the horses, and then still, quiet pasturing. I watched them similar to the way a child would, enraptured. Everything in this moment was perfect, pure, innocent. And it had nothing to do with me.