Snow Blowing Over Snow: The Art of Attachment

…if he is an artist, he will be compelled to make sacrifices which worldly people find absurd and unnecessary. In following the inner light he will inevitably choose… poverty. And, if he has in him the makings of a great artist, he may renounce everything, even his art.

—Henry Miller

On Monday I gave away 60 paper paintings for a future that may never happen. I promised to keep it a secret, but I can say that it involves 10 to 15 million dollars of investment that doesn’t exist. Not for my income, mind you, but for the futile progression of art history. Nonsense is often my play friend, however this round I feel it hit puberty and changed its name to “Super Dumb Fool”. I miss them profoundly. Meaningless to a busy world, each painting captures a brief moment in my life that I can recall. They are recent creations, made during COVID, with titles that are relevant to me, however, pre-Rosetta Stone hieroglyphics to where they have landed.
Often, when I think of loss, I imagine the sight of snow blowing over snow. I have a long way to go, maybe a hundred years, before I can let go of my attachments.