|
A conversation with Kiki Smith. Listen to program
When I think about Kiki Smith, I think, Lucky for us. Kiki Smith makes sculpture of and about the body out of all sorts of materials. Her work is never limited in media or in meaning – etchings, prints, drawing, installations, wax, metal, paper, conceptual, literal, political, feminist, scientific, spiritual, fairytale, groundbreaking, intensely personal. Lucky for us. I could tell you how important her work is, but I’m not sure she would care and I would rather tell you that I learned so much from her. Kiki is a world of real magic and fantastic reality unlike any other.
When I think about Kiki, I think about the days just before I got married. My study of her work steeped very personal thoughts of life ahead. Kiki worked at home, with a love for the feel of sewing bees. I had always dreamed of a studio miles from life with high walls and no people. Kiki believed that expectations are simply a first step in a larger process –an isolated Petri dish, a shortcoming of imagination if mistaken as an end. To aim for manifesting expectations was to miss the point. All those sad days when my work had not come out as I planned, when I was sure of failure and streaked with tears, all those sad days turned a brighter hue. And perhaps I didn’t need to worry about separating life from work so much. Perhaps marriage wasn’t something that traded individuality for togetherness or creativity for safety, because who owns and quantifies any of that, anyway? Perhaps I would take a brave step into the unknown, losing nothing, to bring them all together. Maybe, if I were lucky, I could be a little like Kiki, at ease in the continuum of making things - days, letters, breakfasts, albums - without fear and worry for the outcome.
When I think about Kiki, I think about sitting next to her at the long wooden table beside her kitchen while she worked on an etching. You can hear the scratching of her tools during the interview. You can hear New York doing its work on a Tuesday. And if you listen closely, you can hear an eye opening, a light falling on a new ground, now waiting to be traveled. Lucky for me.
Thanks, Kiki.
|
