I saw a friend’s studio wall a few weeks back, all her most recent paintings so enticingly and gloriously pinned up for her own contemplation. How satisfying. It reminded me of the David Lynch art documentary. He doesn’t speak on-screen, but does most of his narration in voiceover, so much of the film is spent in his art studio, watching Lynch sit in a chair gazing at his latest painting and smoking, as curls of milky blue lift in the California sunlight. The pleasure and provocation of sitting face-to-face with your own ideas isn’t something I’d known I wanted, until I did. And then I wanted it very badly.
So, now there’s a 9-square grid of string pinned to my office wall. It’s a game, in as much as any piece of art, or any game, is crafted from a set of rules. First rule is that the squares of the grid must contain things I like by September 1. (I started July 15, so a 6-week deadline.) This can be whatever—a research paper, poem, drawings, paintings, sculpture, polaroids, scrap of fabric, flowers, post-its, ribbon—anything. As long as I *like* it, and as long as I feel the grid is *complete* by September 1. Draft pieces can be, and should be, pinned up for contemplation in the meantime. Things can get pinned up and taken back down if I change my mind. But on September 1, the whole of it, the entire grid assemblage, will mark a moment in time
The second rule is that I won’t buy anything to complete the project. Everything I need is right here somewhere. This house is full of stuff. And so are the woods. The third is that everything, except the string, comes down on September 1, in conclusion of the project, no matter what happens next, and even if there are parts that I decide to pin right back up again. As you might remember, I’ve been freshly inspired by Joseph Cornell and his box collages lately. He thought of his compositions as capturing the ephemeral. And I’ve just begun looking the work of Lenore Tawney. Materials. Time. Juxtaposition. Touch.
Of course, all this means that I’ve been spending less time looking at a screen and much more time looking at my string grid, and I’m hoping that my delight doesn’t turn into a computer alergy. I boldly secured less money and more time for myself this summer. I *thought* I’d spend these months in another way entirely. Instead, since I pinned up the grid, I’ve been floored by the flood of fun and feral, wild-eyed ideas that’ve all come crawling out of the woods, or the woodwork, and through the string window panes.
For your part, you’re welcome—invited, even—to take inspiration from any of the above, the part where you pin up some string or the part where you cut back on work in order to taste life a little better. What I’m learning more acutely than ever is that there’s so much potentcy in finding your own satisfaction.
Also very big thanks so much to those who’ve been reaching out. This is a very intimate little newsletter and it feels like writing to a friend back in the old days. XJessica
Brilliant idea. Just when I was wondering what next… this is next!
Love this project, beautiful