Statement Piece

Kissing distance separated me from the women who were studying my chest. Squeezed into Rissa’s Artistic Design studio, the trio—a shopper I had not met, sister girlfriend Usha, and designer Rissa—stared intently at the necklace they’d picked out for me.

The anonymous shopper—a devotee of Rissa’s work—furrowed her brow in serious approval. Usha beamed; she’d orchestrated the occasion, playing matchmaker between Clarissa’s art and me. Rissa’s face settled into a satisfied modest smile, perhaps satisfied the stars blessed the match. I was mesmerized by their silent conversation with the art, which had nothing to do with me.

Clarissa said, “Turn around, look at yourself in the mirror.”

Reluctant to disturb the intimacy of the moment, I hesitated, then turned to discover the conversation had everything to do with me.

Rissa’s creation of silver alloy wire encircled my neck, ending in a coil that rivered energy from my heart chakra to my throat. It was a statement piece. I felt too small for it.

Reflected in the mirror, the three women were now behind me, looking over my shoulders. Their expressions telegraphed yes, a statement piece, a perfect fit. The room grew crowded as aunties gathered from across continents and generations to guide me. They nudged me to exchange my baseball cap for a crown.

The spell Rissa cast in the creation of her wearable art swirled around us. Call it intention; call it ubuntu; call it the smoke from sage.

Yes, a statement piece. I was the statement.