by Gordy Grundy
Last week, my latest madly ambitious leap forward came to a screeching halt.
Facing new scrutinies, I had spent a fevered four days and nights, cleaning up the CV and updating my art website, the evidence of my existence and a record of all works and endeavors. A swarm of abandoned sites were revitalized and re-linked. The search for lost works found success and failure. This ambitious act, a record of my achievement, the ole best foot forward, unexpectedly took me to my past. And it swallowed me. My sunny enthusiasm turned cold and black.
I was drowning in the funk. All I saw was an ocean of hard work and it was enormous. The art objects and endeavors, once vital and hopeful, bobbed beside me like water-logged life preservers. When I reached out to touch them, they sank.
I had forgotten all that I had created. I was stunned by the enormity. So much has been for naught.
My greatest joy of art-making is in the problem-solving and production, all-engrossing. How to make it function, beautifully.
That production rush is a narcotic. Fueled by delirious hopes and dreams. Without saying goodbye to the last piece, and the past, to avoid the pain of a eulogy, I continually immerse myself into the next deep dive. Quite the addiction.
I am realizing now that 'saying goodbye' to an art work is as important as a funeral to a healthy life. Resolving the relationship. Letting go. Giving thanks for all the beauties and abilities of creation.
Not so long ago, a patron, a fashion designer who had collected my work thoroughly and deeply, contacted me with a terse email. Laura Byrnes had lost everything in the Eaton fire. She named some of the pieces. Forgotten memories flooded to the fore. Like a death in the family.
Like losing an old lover. Making an art work is a relationship. Courting an idea. Devoting time and thought. Caring deeply. Forging affections, trying to please. Finding a groove brings enlightenment. Love blossoms. And eventually, we part.
Saying goodbye is a sad, nasty business. I prefer the French Exit or the Irish Goodbye, with a quiet slip out the back door. I remember an old friend who refused to go to funerals, enraging the families of old friends. I skipped his.
Aptly named, we all know how important mindfulness is to a healthy inner life. Yet, I'm thinking the idea of creating an actual ceremony to one's past work is better left to someone else.
I do know that such a funeral requires a moment of quiet and the cleansing power of burning sage. A Buddhist gesture of acceptance. Catholic forgiveness. Islamic devotion to the creator. Protestant courage. And always, the agnostic's recognition of chance.
These moments might ensure a goodbye to past works and a proper footing to the next.
 |
GORDY GRUNDY is the Editor-in-Chief of Art Report Today
Back to Main Page
|
|
