Sensory Cardboard: I love you, egg Egg

Paper, cardboard, flour, turmeric

Satisfying, swollen, squishy, revolting.

These are the four adjectives I set out to represent with only cardboard and paper. I began experimenting with origami and manipulating cardboard to look like fringe or fur with my exacto knife, but then turned my attention to an art I haven’t attempted since childhood: paper mâché. Using different methods of manipulating paper and cardboard, I was led down a rabbit hole of material exploration of things that have been used by humankind for centuries: paper and eggs.

Eggs?

Eggs have been on my mind lately. Eggs are in that category which I dub “magic foods” — like honey, tea, or rice. These are those nourishing, mystical foods that are commonly used in many cultures, and can be served in many forms.

Last weekend, I made a frittata for a lovely, rare pandemic brunch with two of our “quaran-team” friends. As I cracked an entire dozen eggs into a bowl, I thought about how satisfying a perfectly cracked egg is.

I also thought about how my relationship with eggs has changed over time. When I was four, my favorite meal was scrambled eggs and a bagel with cream cheese. My wonderful mom, handling single-parenthood while working her first teaching job on the Jicarilla-Apache Reservation in Dulce, New Mexico, would make us breakfast for dinner every Friday night, while we watched the same Sky Dancers movie I insisted on renting over and over again with the weekly dollar allowance my abuela gave me when we’d drive back to Pagosa Springs to visit her on Saturdays. While life on the reservation was lonely and difficult, I had my mom and she had me. At the time, it was enough.

With puberty, Endometriosis set in and menstruation became a monthly torture session. Not only was I bed-bound and forced to double-line my underwear, but my sense of smell became so acute during my periods that any strong smell would nauseate me. Even though I lived in a small town with hot springs that smelled of sulfur (I only know this through others — I can’t actually smell the sulfur smell in my hometown), for some reason I could suddenly smell the sulfur of eggs and they became repulsive to me. At this time, I felt bloated, swollen, and cramped, unable to contain or control what was happening to my changing body.

As an adult woman, I’m recently engaged, finishing up my masters degree, and moving into my career. Eggs have begun to hold an entirely new meaning. My partner and I have never felt it necessary that we absolutely must have kids, nor that we’re absolutely against the notion. At 27, it’s just not our priority. However, society places a great value on women’s eggs and, as a woman with endometriosis, I’m not even sure that I can have children. I’m not devastated by this reality — again, I’ve never felt it was my life’s purpose to have children. And yet, despite my own belief systems surrounding gender and sexuality, there are times when I see a newborn and feel that rush of hormones that makes me want to run over, jiggle the baby’s leg, and immediately ovulate. There are moments when, despite my feminism and a supportive partner, I am burdened by my body’s potential limitations. These are the times I feel most vulnerable.

I’ll just come right out and say it: pregnancy, fetuses, and birth are disturbing. Unlike my mom, who could have easily had ten children, the thought of a fetus sucking away my life force then ripping open my insides is not one I look forward to. I understand that this may change. Right now though, I hate watching live births and one of my most pervasive and irrational fears is to crack open an egg only to discover a baby chicken inside. I don’t know how or when this fear originated — maybe someone told me it happened to them or maybe it happened to me. Maybe I just watched that movie Fly Away Home too many times (the one with the geese). I have no specific memories associated with my strange fear of chicken fetuses in eggs. I know the odds are extremely low. Still, there’s always a tense moment during which I hold my breath before I see that golden yolk pour safely out.

Eggs are laden with signifiers. Life, fertility, cycles, beginnings, endings, death, resurrection, eternal life…the list continues (particularly when you grow up Catholic - eggs, eggs, eggs everywhere). As stated before, I consider eggs to be a “magic food.” They provide endless nutrients, can be prepared in so many ways, and are essentially a single cell. I may have an overly-complicated relationship with eggs, but they continue to fascinate, inspire, revolt, and satisfy me all at once.