When I sort through the old artwork stored in my studio, I wonder about whether I should re-work a piece or not. Would it be "beating a dead horse?" Or, would it be "fanning the flames of a great spark of an idea?"
Many pieces were simply experiments. They are valuable as lessons and examples for future reference. To me, they are not works that stand alone, but may be considered materials, just like the paint, dye, wood scraps, and copper tubing stashed in their respective places.
Now, if another artist reworks a piece, I might get irritated. Why? Because I've grown attached to the artwork as it is. I'm not attached to my own experiments, false starts, and incomplete ideas, but I might become attached to someone else's. That is one of the challenges with living with another artist. I grow attached to Tony's art; the next thing I know, he has completely re-worked it to a nearly unrecognizable state. I find myself responding with anguish!
People often ask me what it's like to have two artists living in the same house. This is one of those hard-to-describe moments. I poked my head into Tony's studio to see what he's up to... he was drying some re-worked abstract paintings. I had no idea what he'd been up to down there, and found myself reacting with horror; I suddenly felt like the advocate for the paintings.
I'm fine with being called an anthropomorphist. He was ready to take those old paintings and move on to another experiment. I wanted to celebrate them as individuals, they were survivors - they'd not yet been destroyed by the artist, had made it through the flood, and, quite simply, I had memories attached to certain paintings. All I can do at that point is lobby for certain paintings to remain intact, and let him do his thing. Meanwhile, it reminds me to go dig around in my studio to see if there is some re-working to be done.
~Julia
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