EGODRAM
Artist, Poet, Iraq Veteran
ABOUT THE ARTIST:
Jenifer "Egodram" Chadbourne
I was born on an Air Force Base in 1981. I spent a significant part of my childhood living in a small suburb outside of Salt Lake City, my father was a reservist in the Marine Corps and my mother worked a variety of desk-jobs in town. I suffered a somewhat hot-cold Catholic upbringing, all the while surrounded by Mormons and feeling like something of an alien.
I’ve been drawing painting since I was sixteen years old, but only within the last few years have I had a reason to take my work seriously. I tried my hand at Art School (Maine College of Art) at the insistence of family, but things didn’t go terribly well for me there: Aside from trying to find my bearings in what felt like a hostile work environment, 9-11 also happened the first week of classes. For a long time after quitting (having done so before they could formally kick me out,) I pretty much gave up on art as anything beyond an after-work hobby. I stayed in the greater Portland area working any job that would hire me, embarking on something of a spiritual search all the while keeping my creations to myself.
After we met in 2007 and promptly moved to Fayetteville AR together, my husband and I got married in 2009 and I joined the United States Army within a matter of months: After years of bouncing from shit-job to shit-job (including janitorial work for a few years) it was time for a serious change. And boy, did I find serious change in the Army! It was quite the experience being in my late 20’s and tossed in the pit with a bunch of 19 year olds, mostly boys. I completed Basic Training at Fort Jackson SC and my 6-month A.I.T at Fort Gordon GA, however fate (if such a thing exists) would have me on a plane with 40th Expeditionary Signal Battalion bound for Iraq less than a year into my military career.
For a myriad of reasons, Iraq was a life-changing experience for me: I saw and did things I never before thought were possible, for good or ill. My job in the Army was not combat focused, I was a comms technician/operator (and I thoroughly admit, not a particularly good one.) I mostly kept to myself, not that I really had that many friends while I was there; the occasional sandstorm, mortar, or bullet would find itself in my general direction regardless of who was or was not around. I met someone extraordinary, someone who changed my life in ways I still can't completely comprehend, I met the man who would become my lover and my muse... and then I would later lose him in the most horrible way imaginable. I'm sorry, Jared, you deserved so much better.
As you may have noticed, my recent work is heavy with certain military themes and imagery: This has all so profoundly impacted me in ways that I can’t even begin to count, Iraq completely turned my world upside-down and I still don’t have all the pieces picked up (maybe I never will). My recent work is a sort of translation of my feelings, dreams, nightmares, and memories of my time there.
I originally wanted to stay in the Army and re-enlist, but a spine & shoulder injury in 2012 (on top of complications from improperly treated PTSD) muddied those plans. I E.T.S’ed out of the Army (Honorable) in 2013, and after mooning the entire post from the top of a park observatory on my last day in the Army, we got into our truck and happily sped away from Post (Fort Huachuca AZ) within an hour of getting my DD-214 in hand.
It took a few years to sort of put myself back together after getting out, but I just recently graduated from the University of Arkansas with a History degree and I hope to someday earn a PhD. That is, if I don't become the next GG Allin of the arts before then.
ARTIST'S STATEMENT
Actions do, in fact, speak louder than words.
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Over the course of my entire life, I've heard a lot of powerful people say an awful lot of very interesting words; followed by immediate disappointment when their actions (or sometimes lack thereof) betray them. Generals, N.C.Os, pastors, and politicians essentially earn their living through giving commands upon an eager audience, captive or public. So when these authority figures betray the trust of that audience, you'd think they'd be removed from their undeserved power and balance would be restored. In any just system, maybe; but we all know that this isn't reality.
Through my experiences deployed in Iraq as well as in the military in general, I've been burned far too many times by people who've abused their power; whether through a rank patch or religious doctrine, I learned the hard way that not everyone who wears the uniform is worthy of being called a "hero." I've seen too many good and decent people have their lives destroyed because someone over them wanted to make an otherwise insignificant point, or even because they felt like it. Some people simply aren't worth even the middle finger aligned upright within a salute, but while I was within that system I couldn't do anything about it.
I once overheard a squadmate say aloud that "Killing Iraqis isn't a sin because they aren't Christians," No one who honestly holds other human life in such little regard over such trivial differences should be allowed to represent America's military internationally, or anywhere near a loaded firearm for that matter. I once witnessed an N.C.O speed through a crosswalk only to slam his brakes, back up at full speed, very nearly side-swipe a pedestrian in the process, only to yell at me about my hair being out of regulation, then screech his tires as he sped off again into the wrong lane of the road: If you feel you have to break the law and endanger the safety of others in the interest of "doing your job," that's a plain and clear indicator that you suck at it. While deployed, a male soldier forced his way into my room, smacked my head against a piece of wooden furniture, and then after a quick search of my room attempted to rape me. When I brought this to the attention of my superiors a few hours later, I was immediately dismissed as a "sinner" and that I'm "not right with the Lord." All because of a non-violent, non-drug-related U.C.M.J infraction, I apparently deserve rape and harassment because I don't believe in a god or afterlife, AND that I had the audacity to play the same game as my fellow MALE soldiers. Incidents like these, and other truly astounding feats of debauchery and incompetence, have burned a permanent impression into the very fiber of my being.
I can't travel back in time and undo any of the things I've described or witnessed, I can't un-meet these people or erase them from my memories and nightmares. I can't un-hurt the people I never meant to, no matter how many nights of sleep I lose over them.
But what I CAN DO, is paint. I CAN talk to reporters and podcasters (and I have.) I CAN immortalize the pain and suffering caused by their ignorance, greed, and utter inhumanity. And I can certainly make my struggle, as well as my work, as public as fucking possible so that it can never be dismissed or buried by some brass-grabbing Sierra-Bravo wearing an undeserved West Point ring. I can also encourage any others out there who've seen what I have (or worse, even) to do the same, not just for publicity or notoriety but for personal healing and satisfaction: There may be right or wrong ways to stretch & mount a canvas, but there's no truly wrong way to bleed your heart out onto it.
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Their actions and deeds have forever poisoned any confidence I had in the institution of the military, any mere words they may have now on the matter are utterly useless to me: You had your chance to speak, AND to act, and you failed.
My art is truly mine, I'm going to use it, and no one is going to take that from me.
Art is defiance.
Art is protest.
Art is action.
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~ Jenifer "Egodram" Chadbourne