In 2017, photographer Diane Fenster was diagnosed with Stage 1 endometrial cancer. A complete hysterectomy followed, and after that, a series of wondrous images about the essence of femininity. Where does it reside? In those two ounces of tissue removed by the surgery? In one’s memories, like the phosphorescent core of a glacier? Or does it wander the imagination, never stopping long enough to become one thing?
In Greek mythology, the uterus itself was thought to wander the body. A coughing spell might result from wayward detours into the throat. Chronic sleeplessness might indicate some kind of uteral insomnia. Until relieved by sexual union, the womb could inflict endless torment. And thus ensued two thousand years of medical malpractice. “Hysteria,” from the Greek, hystera (womb, uterus), was treated well into the twentieth century with—well, you name it: balms, fumigations, electrical probes, and domestic solitary confinement (the “rest cure”).
In Diane Fenster’s series HY•ST•ER•IA: Body as Battleground, a difficult recovery is underway, not only of the body but of the womb from its ancient pathologies. Dresses linger like apparitions of a lost cause. But through the muslin and silk a battle rages. Rage against cancer’s indiscriminate abuses. Shock at the loss of something so personal, so part of oneself. Nevertheless, the silhouette of a woman remains, resists. She emerges prominently in the final image. What that says about the idea of the feminine and its connections to the body, only the photographer knows. But at the very least, the creative force, the incorruptible nascency of this work, speaks to the undoing of an old story and the birth of something new.