My artwork has been a lifelong strategy to become someone who matters. As the youngest of six, it was made clear that in the hierarchy of our home, I didn’t. This doesn’t mean that my mom didn’t love me. She did. Hierarchy isn’t about love though. It is about power and I didn’t have it.
After decades of processing, that isn’t even a story that I find interesting. But there is a remnant. My relationship to my artwork was developed as a child, as a hungry child who wanted to matter. Now, when I go to share my artwork publicly, I have to manually separate these childhood desires from the project at hand.
I need to tell myself that when a friend doesn’t come to my show, it might mean that they just aren’t that interested in dance, or sculpture or art in general. It doesn’t mean that I don’t matter to them. It might mean that they like me for my personality. How dare they!
I need to tell myself that if it isn’t well attended, it might mean that it wasn’t marketed properly for some reason. It doesn’t necessarily mean that my artwork doesn’t matter.
I need to tell myself that if someone I love deeply isn’t deeply moved by my artwork, it might mean that they love me for who I am rather than what I make. It doesn’t necessarily mean that they don’t love me deeply in return.
When I do this manual separation, I am no longer a child in my artwork. I am a professional who does something for a living. Some people, for reasons all of their own, resonate with the artwork I channel. Some people don’t. We all matter. And in another way, none of us do.