Out of the 480 little pink pillows produced for My Life in Rows (2013), there were roughly 50 that had been poked and pinched. The first one was an accident, slipping from my hands and falling to the floor while still malleable. I picked it up, feeling like it should be kept. And to ensure it didn’t feel lonely I intentionally marred additional units during the making from time to time.
When all was said and done—or poked and pinched in this case—these pillows ultimately felt contrived, as if each one had imposter syndrome. And so when I started exhibiting the work again, some ten-ish years later, I decidedly held these units back.
To lighten my load with the impending move to Alfred, I pulled the milk crate of imposters out to the trash can where I busted—one by one—each arbitrarily poked and pinched pillow.
One of the gifts of breaking my work—aside from a physical exercise toward an adopted practice of dying* and the very obvious creating of a vacuum for new work to fill—is the discovery of the messages I scrawled into the interiors before closing each form. (Much like breaking open a fortune cookie… less out of hunger for the cookie and more out of hunger for the fortune.)
Two of these busted pillows presented their messages clearly to me: I AM LOVED and I AM UNITED. Both resonating with my decision to move.
I AM UNITED. Every part of me is all in. Liquidating my studio of 10 years and selling my home of 20 in resolute alignment of a potential-filled future at 51.
I AM LOVED. Tell your community you’re leaving… you’ll find out real soon whether you are or are not.
I.
AM.
LOVED.
(And I am grateful, humbled, and heartened.)
*Practice dying. More than once. So that it gets easier each time. Practice dying. Practice makes perfect. And someday… I will be perfectly dead.