Recently my store room, which houses almost all of my artwork from my school days onwards, was flooded (through the fault of a neighbour). Portfolio after portfolio stood in water, happily sucking up moisture until the the water receded and mould took its place. I had been away and so the catastrophe was not immediately discovered, and the mould thrived in the damp, untouched conditions.
It is a truly horrible thing to discover the destruction of things that are dear to you, things that cannot be replaced. My current work is mopping up the aftermath: sorting, cataloguing, and throwing away over 25 years of my artistic history. For years I've carried the vague reassurance of these images around somewhere in the very back of my mind, now I confront them in gruelling three hour sessions - memory, associations, decisions - save or destroy? Move on to the next one...It would be heart-rending if it weren't so physically exhausting.
Losses, yes. But, somewhere there are unexpected gains, little glowing gems. There is a joy in seeing old work, blinking and groggy at seeing the light of day after having been buried in your subconscious for decades - you always knew it was there but now, with it laid out boldly in front of you, you have a visceral link to the past, a type of time travel. Admittedly, the joy has a strange piquancy to it, because you are also assessing for damage and some things just can't be saved, not even a tiny fragment. The relentlessness of the task has an almost intellectual rigour to it, to review (quite literally to re-view) and integrate. I can trace, step by step, the technical and intellectual leaps I have made, through the guidance of different teachers, tutors and courses, which have stretched and fed my own creative work. How often does anyone have time to really look back and consider their artistic origins? So many things have become second nature now and it's interesting to re-consider them with the evidence of learning - and not always easy learning - in front of me.
The flood has backed me into a corner, forcing issues to be raised and questions to be asked about the nature of possessions, baggage, holding on and letting go, The flood offers something too, though:- it's a stock-taking of my life so far: some things are washed away, some remain and a new perspective is waiting to be adopted or rejected.