something visceral

This was a part of a larger piece, which was part of a larger body of work, which was part of my BFA show way back when in art college.

Most of those pieces have been claimed, repurposed, or discarded over the years. But this panel remains. A line drawing of a Halloween costume my mom made for me.

From deep within the garage, I pulled out a bin of art a few weeks ago and have been making my way through what remains of that old college work. It’s wildly uncomfortable sifting through the good, the bad, and the ugly. And revisiting a chapter in my life where I felt occasionally excited and inspired, but mostly lost, unmoored, unsure of myself and my place, and struggling to deal.

They say there is a detachment that can happen with older work, and I suppose that’s sometimes true, but I still feel something visceral when I see this little clown. And not because I think it’s poignant as art necessarily, but because I can see that past version of myself longing for something, unable to quite convey it, but feeling it all deeply nonetheless.

And just as I’ve learned to acknowledge, tend to, and give voice to my inner child, so too am I learning that this twenty-something version of myself has something to say.

And I’ve dismissed her for quite awhile. She was lost and often drunk and didn’t seem to have the right words or the right images to express what was in her.

And honestly I’m still not sure exactly what she’s trying to say. But I’m not turning away from her this time. I’m staying with her. I’m listening.