there’s something about making art that always makes me cry. so so much. i mean, let’s be honest, i cry a lot to begin with. i always have. in fact, i cry a whole fucking lot less now than i used to. but still, when i’m creating new work, i cry my eyes out the entire time. i mean, of course there are other factors that make me cry, and there are many other moments in my life when i cry a fuck-ton as well, but this…this moment, here, now, making this show…i can’t stop crying.
3 years ago, in grad school, i made this piece:
it was a cathartic piece. it took a long time to make–much longer than my patience usually allows me. and a long time to take down… it was also, like crying, ephemeral. all that’s left of this piece are these images and some bits of materials left scattered around my studio.
i read this quote by Matisse several years ago, about how for him, every one of his gorgeous, luscious paintings was so painful to make. he compared it to being raped. which is nothing that i take lightly–as metaphor or otherwise. it resonated with me, though. there is something quite painful in the process of drawing out original artwork. ask any of my collaborators: i’m not always much of a joy to be around in the midst of the creative process. not that i’m a diva, but i do get hit with intense emotions. incapacitating emotional moments. today i wrote that it feels like i’m in an ocean of overwhelm and the waves of it keep knocking me down. and i’m starting to have a hard time standing up. but…maybe being swept out into it is actually just what i need. an ocean of tears to carry me away to a land of mermaids and sea urchins living in our little hearts–and that is where the work is.
perhaps.
