Honey, I took apart your basement studio. It sat motionless for almost 2 years – collages mid paste, paintings almost completed and some with just your base blast of universal color and deep spacial discrepancies…
Sand, bits of glitter, glass, hardened paint chips, glue forms, nuts, bolts, broken jewelry, sticks, unused brushes and a list of the paint you needed to buy. And more and more piles of things to inspire and use and you layered you work…a jar full of water and nails rusting – waiting for the moment for you to pluck them out and glue them to a canvas – then splatter paint on them – only you knowing how the colors underneath… the baby doll head sprayed silver – constantly staring in your direction…
I kept clear of your space – it was “yours” – it was your creative sandbox – instead I waited upstairs for you to present a finished work after you’d signed it nagnoS.
The paint and glue went unused and dust settled on your workspace.
Repeating “You’re not coming back.”, repeating “You’ll never finish these.”, repeating ” You’ll never use this.” – as I picked up a tube of bright mauve half full… cry, repeat, move, tears, repeat, box, snot dripping, repeat sweep… sweep the dust and sand as you always did and then I poured it into your cup as you would…as you would mix it with glue and paint. Saving it for me…not you…
Your work tabletop cleared exposes… your creative footprints – I was so afraid of re”moving” there it stairs back at me – your imprint – the creativity off the canvas – the marked moment of creation that was edited out of the framed horizon of your vision.
My dear love, your work tabletop is the impression of your energy and the stain on my heart.
I weep = my eyes are swollen = you’re not coming back…there’s no pretending anymore.