Advisor: Lorena Salcedo-Watson + Martin Levine

What It Feels Like To Be Me

An autobiographical installation by Kayla Montes

My art practice is dedicated to exploring what it feels like to be human. In my work I explore familial relations, love, loss, mental health, and human connection: the ways in which we as humans affect one another. Combining my love for installation art and printmaking, I strive to push the boundaries of how print is created and displayed. My process of creation is what inspires my work, with less emphasis on the outcome. I lean into the process of printmaking allowing the material to be in conversation with me. What is created is not just a product of mine, but also of the processes of life and creation that have birthed the final product. I am inspired by interactions I have with the people around me and my observations of interactions between others. Although my work holds personal stories to me, it also consists of subject matter that anyone can understand. 

I intend for this project to serve as one cohesive installation as opposed to separate pieces of work. As you step through the door you will be entering my mind. Around you are ideas, words and memories that live inside me, some fragments of life and others with concrete presence. All of them have been purposefully created on a scale that is larger than life. This work is a physical representation of my self-acceptance as I have created a life for aspects of myself that I have kept hidden from the world until this moment. With the creation of this project, I hope to begin fostering an environment where people no longer are afraid to share their darkest thoughts and ideas with others. True healing can only begin when we learn to accept ourselves unconditionally. 

My senior honors exhibition served as an opportunity for me to give life to a thought that I have had for as long as I can remember. Since I was a child I wondered why people were not open and honest about what they were feeling and what was happening in their life. From a young age I recognized people’s tendencies to sugarcoat their life, and make connections with each other by sharing positive experiences. I also noticed the stigma around experiences that were deemed as “bad”. I spent my formative years watching and listening to my parents fight, yell, and behave maliciously at home, but act as if life was perfect when within the gaze of others. The tension in my home was masked with dinners with friends, hosting parties and get-togethers, family vacations to be posted on Facebook, and purchasing material things to emulate a desirable life. Observing these patterns as a child  I learned quickly to mask how I was feeling and present myself as if everything was well. 

I lived a relatively normal life on paper. I grew up in a nice house with parents who were married. I attended good schools and participated in many extracurriculars. I had friends and family that loved me. So why did I feel so horrible? Around age 11, I began my battle with depression. It was something I didn’t understand and felt extremely isolating.  My only models for dealing with conflict being my parents, I never learned proper emotional regulation or how to ask for help. For years I lost the desire to do the things I enjoyed, my self esteem, and passion to create a fulfilling life for myself. I battled suicidal thoughts and multiple attempts right under the nose of my family while they were seemingly unsuspecting. My parents always assured me that they loved me unconditionally and wanted to offer their support in whatever form I needed it. But how could I bother them with my issues when my house was already a warzone? Was I supposed to interrupt their screaming matches to tell them I wanted to kill myself? Or should I risk ruining one of the good days with my problems by telling them what’s happening and have them fight over whose fault it is? Although I wanted help it was easier for me to carry out what I was taught. Fight the battle in privacy and put on a “happy front”. As I reflect with hindsight, the mask that I was wearing was paper thin. I didn’t laugh, I didn’t smile, I spent hours locked in my bedroom alone. I stopped eating, I stopped wanting to be around friends, I couldn’t hold a conversation with either of my parents. I sobbed myself to sleep too loudly . I thought it was impossible no one heard me. So why did no one fight for me? 

Then, in my sophomore year of high school I attempted suicide. I was frustrated and upset when my attempt was unsuccessful. I was so tired of fighting. I was angry at the people that saved my life and I was angry at all of the people that cried for me the days I spent unconscious in the hospital. It felt like people only cared once it affected them. It was obvious there was something wrong with me for years but as long as I kept on the mask no one probed deep enough to figure out what was wrong and how to help. But as soon as the charade became too much for me to keep up, everyone was devastated. Now, everyone cares too much. Where was this support when I needed it? I finally had found the courage to stop fighting and now everyone wanted to keep me alive. It didn’t feel fair. The support didn’t feel like it was for me. It felt like it was being offered because living without me was more inconvenient than having to help. 

I spent much of my time after my attempt talking to myself and God. Although I was never super religious. My parents brought me to Sunday school here and there as a child and I received my confirmation a few years late, but that was about it. But I needed to find a reason to stay alive. I didn’t have the heart to put the people around me through another attempt in fear that it would be unsuccessful again. I told myself that if I had to be alive, I was going to spend my time on this Earth breaking the patterns of what I had been taught. I spent a long time unlearning the model that my parents had built for me. I learned not to be ashamed of myself and the things that I felt. I learned about mental illness and depression. I learned that I wasn’t a fundamentally flawed being, but rather that so many people have experienced the feelings and turmoil that I have. I then became angry. I mourned all the years of my life that I had lost because I had been taught to not show the world what I struggled with. 

This project is a continuation of my process of honoring myself and learning to accept every part of myself without fear of judgement. I chose to give life to thoughts and memories that are attached to the darest part of my life and tie them to things I am currently going through in an attempt to build a connection between who I once was and who I am now. I would not be the person I am today if I had not gone through everything that I have. The subject matter of this instillation is inspired by things I remember from the period of time where I was extremely suidical and ideas that I have faced recently on my healing journey.

The first piece in this exhibition, titiled I don’t understand the extremeness of my nature, represents the conflicting things I have felt while struggling with depression. Although my baseline was sad, I had moments of joy. This moments that distracted me from pain often lead me to feeling a different extreme. I would engulf myself in whatever made me feel anything besides sadness. I chose to use see-through paper for this to represent the fact that even through the moments of happiness, the underlying feeling of hating being alive remained. I knew that every peak had its valley, and that no matter how good things may feel in a moment, they would inevitably come crashing down.

Title: I don’t understand the extremeness of my nature, Translucent paper and acrylic paint, April 2024, Dimensions: 27 8.5”x11” sheets

The next piece, titled  I think we would all be better people if we chose to reflect the good we saw in others. Why are we taught not to compare ourselves to each other? serves as a place for self reflection. This piece was inspired by the many hours I spent contemplating my existence and place in this world and what made me important enough to stick around. Painted on the mirror is the phrase “Please compare yourself to everyone else”. This was meant to be in direct contrast with a lesson that I feel was pushed onto my generation; the importance of not comparing yourself to others. With this piece I am working to change the narrative about comparison and instead use it as a beneficial tool, something that can push ourselves to be better.

Title: I think we would all be better people if we chose to reflect the good we saw in others. Why are we taught not to compare ourselves to each other?, April 2024, Dimensions: 76”x41”

A being in distress; I remember my mother used to yell like this is meant to showcase the agony that was present during my formative years. This piece appears to have two titles as the inspiration came from two very distinct places that intersected. My mother is known for descending into fits of rage when upset. Yelling, slamming doors, throwing things, name calling, it was all commonplace. This exaggerated face is how I remember her during many of those moments.
The distress shown is also how I felt during some of the darkest moments of my depression. Although I didn’t show it on the outside, I was screaming on the inside.

Title: A being in distress; I remember my mother used to yell like this, April 2024, Dimensions: 36”x84”

Why can’t anyone help me? and Why can’t anyone help me? continued were made to mimic the spiraling thought cycles I have often found myself it. These were real thoughts I recorded in during moments of severe distress. I chose not to alter them in order to preserve the integrity of the message.

Mom, I thought you were supposed to love me unconditionally. Mom, why does your love hurt so bad? serves the same purpose as the other collagraphs I created, but I choose to let this one be identified alone as the pain from this message comes specifically from my ever complicated relationship with the person who is supposed to love me the most.