JIM RISWOLD
RISWOLD'S OWIES (Cancer, pt. 2) (no pants)
2013 screenprint 61-1/2 x 43-1/2 inches

$2500.


I’ve done a lot of work involving owies.

I combined a Frida Kahlo doll with a Skilcraft Visible Woman™ model and a
lot of type pointing out the trials and tribulations of Frida’s body and called it
Frida’s Owies.

I combined an Andy Warhol doll with a Skilcraft Visible Man™ model and a
lot of type pointing out the trials and tribulations of Andy’s body and called it
Andy’s Owies.

My body has been through its fair share of owies over the past decade or
so including, but not limited to, leukemia, idiopathic interstitial lung disease, a
collapsed lung, more than a few rounds of pneumonia, E. coli, prostate cancer
and a prostatectomy that, to say the least, did not go according to plan.

A number of friends suggested I do a self-portrait called Riswold’s Owies.

Much to my chagrin, there are no Jim Riswold dolls, the closest facsimile being
Mr. Potato Head, to combine with a Skilcraft Visible Man™ model to make an
acceptable Riswold’s Owies.

So I used my own body 10 days after the surgery that saved my life from the
aforementioned prostatectomy that did not go according to plan. My body
was a collection of unsightly bruises, staples, scars, tubes, bandages, catheters
and piping hot bags of piss.

Ray Gordon photographed my body in all its brokenness. I could barely stand
for two minutes at a time. The entire shoot lasted maybe 20 minutes. It was one
of the most cathartic moments in my life. It’s me telling cancer to go fuck itself.

I like telling cancer to go fuck itself, but it does get wearisome.

And my mom doesn’t like all my fucking swearing.

Riswold’s Owies (Cancer, Pt. 2) is dedicated to my friend Ray Gordon. Ray visited
me every time I was in the hospital over the last 13 years, and I was in the
hospital a lot. Thank you, Ray—it meant a ton. Furthermore, anybody who has
the guts to photograph me naked deserves at least a dedication, if not a medal.