An artist is defined by his or her body of work. Body of work, artist, no body of work, not artist. I said I would call myself an artist after I had made 100 sculptures. It doesn’t matter to me whether they are large or small, just that they are each unique from the one before. It’s hard to do this. Sometimes I look at some of my earliest pieces like “Resolve” and wonder if I can do that again. Other times I say, “Sure, what’s next will be unique and own its particular space”. But they’re not always good and like life good things balance with the less good. There are a number of my pieces living out their days in the woods. Quietly returning to the earth in the form of rust. But I have learned something new from every one. And I’m crowding 100.
Just in time too. My nephew is graduating from Pratt with a BFA and he is really good. A painter, and innately blessed with talent, we’re going to see some fun things come out of his studio. Thanks to family I get the opportunity to try and engage him in collaboration. I’ll learn from his experience and perhaps I can show him a thing or two from the errors I’ve made. This will be a lot of fun.
The other day my brother asked me if Annie is happy to be alive. My response was “Yes, 90% of the time”. And it isn’t that she doesn’t want to be here the other 10% it is just that sometimes it is very hard to keep doing everything she has to do just to make it through the day. But the rest of the time, with interesting things happening, art flowing forth, nephews with real talent (his mom and my dad flowing through) getting out into the world, she’s glad she is getting to see this phase. I am too. We wouldn’t miss this next generation’s impact for anything.
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