A running 'blade' is something that many of us see in the Paralympic Games: beautiful prosthetic feet that resemble gazelle legs flashing before our eyes. A 'blade' prosthetic foot is specifically designed to compress and store the runner's energy, only to then release that energy in a strong forward thrust at toe-off. You'd likely find that the energy return is too much 'bounce' for everyday use. Amazingly, prosthetic limbs that are designed for specific recreational activities are not covered by most insurance companies. As a result, runners have to pay out-of-pocket or hope for charity funding. There is a moment nowadays called So Every BODY Can Move, which is seeking legislation that will, among other things, ensure insurance coverage for recreational prostheses. After all, movement is medicine. I created this artwork to mark the start of April's National Limb Loss and Limb Difference Awareness Month. What does this month mean to you? For me, it means amplifying the voices of people who live with limb loss and limb difference, as well as finding ways we can advocate on issues that affect us. Want to find a way to get involved? I highly suggest you contact the Amputee Coalition to find out how you can help raise awareness and create change. This is a time-lapse video of my illustration, as drawn in Procreate. I love creating characters and images out of thin air and watching them come to life before me. They change so much as the drawing progresses - I love the evolution of the character. As I draw tiny details, like the leaves here, I let my mind wander. You'll notice, though, I did import an image of a runner so that I could get the components as accurate as possible. He makes a quick appearance - can you spot him?
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I have his eyes and a deep longing for the sea.
Buoyant when it holds me down, this magnificent weight clinging to me. Oh my machine, it's been you and me for a long time. Buoyant when I held you down, your girl not knowing if she's this or she's me. Oh my machine, we got our kicks from grins and the cold stares from boys at the beach. Buoyant when they held us down. Oh grandfather, I wish that you had met me. I have his eyes and a deep longing for the sea. If only you could hold me now, A fisherman and a woman, part machine. Music and lyrics copyright Jennifer Latham Robinson I've practiced yoga in two short bursts. My husband and I took a few classes together, probably around fifteen years ago. Then, when I was pregnant with my second child, I took prenatal yoga. I've done it with and without my prosthesis. Although I don't follow it now (but should), I occasionally dabble. As marvelous as my prosthesis is, there's also a sense of liberation in moving without its mechanics.
Regardless of whether I wear my prosthesis or not, I'm the same person. I'm the same person on crutches. I'm the same person in a wheelchair. While these may seem like obvious statements, the method of your mobility can profoundly affect how you engage with the world. I'm currently nursing a hip injury on my 'good leg,' so I'm using my wheelchair much more. I find there's a lot more strategizing involved when I'm in my chair. I'm picturing a restaurant... Are there stairs to that outdoor seating we usually love? Am I entering into a pub table/stool nightmare scenario? Even though the way my body moves and how I interact with the physical world may change with my mode of mobility, I am still me. It's actually quite reassuring to remember that. |
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AuthorMy book ideas come from personal experience and countless conversations with other individuals and colleagues. Archives
March 2024
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