I have often wondered what happened to some of the pieces I have created through the years. As one gets older, even if not famous, or prolific, there can be a lot of art "out there." For some reason, many drawings and paintings I have made, waaaaay back, before family, kids, "real jobs" came about are coming back to me.
Old friends are connecting again (must be a midlife thing) and each time I get together with them, one or another, will give me, or tell me a story about a drawing I had given or sold them.
One of the first in the trend was finding the WWII drawings which I wrote about in an earlier post. Now, the last few months, I have been getting drawings from a series if ink drawings in 1971. I am not super attached to them, not even sure I think they are "good" anymore. Not important. They are what they are, but they lead me to think more about what happens to our art? My friend Ellen said it best when I told her this story.
"One of the most remarkable things about life, as it goes on, is how much we really can't tell what our affect has been on other people who have crossed our paths. You carelessly give away a drawing to a friend and forget about it; and for 35 years it has a daily affect on their lives, and on the lives of other people who enter their house! It's so impossible for us, working from the inside of our heads, to have any idea what our lives have 'meant.' We don't have access to the information."
I am glad I have had some access to that information lately. It is rather provocative and certainly ego boosting ;-)
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