This past spring I went to New York to see the Hilma af Klint show at the Guggenheim. I don’t typically get much time to vacate my regular life of full-time work and full-time family, so this was a real treat. Took the train from Baltimore to NY and stayed with a dear friend of more than 33 years in Brooklyn.
This person had many objects of art I’d created over the years, including some pieces made just for her. I was humbled and honored that she chose to display some of them in her living space and also a little freaked by the realization that I didn’t remember creating many of the pieces. They were obviously from me because they looked like I made them.
Which has me wondering where my mind is when I’m making things. It is certainly and absolutely in the moment, but also very much in a place that is separate from me. The creative miasma, the greater-than place, the space other people who make things connect to when they are creating. I am happy when I’m there and once I’ve disconnected from it I can’t stop wanting to go back to reattach again. Uninterrupted time in this place is an incredible gift.
I want to make a small painting for my NY friend for her birthday coming up in early July. I think I’ll document the process a bit so my questionable memory has some visual back-up.