Last week I spent a long day removing staples and rubber membranes from the backs of stretcher bars that held the canvases that supported my paintings.  Prior to that I took a lot of these paintings down from their nails on my walls. 

I've been a collector of my own work.  Psychologically I feel a loss.  My paintings made my house a clear reflection of me.  I have been surrounded by some of these paintings for a long time.  As I finished a new one I would take its picture, place this image on my website and blog it to the world.  Then I would give it a prominent position in my home where I could daily critique it and give it my undying love and admiration.  Once in a while I might take it down and move it, switch it out with another or change positions.  I am always rearranging my gallery.

But last week everything changed. 

I knew the day would come when I would have to get these paintings ready to take with me to China for my show at He Gallery.  I've been so excited about this trip that I didn't give much thought other than the prospect of selling some art.  It didn't occur to me that I had become so attached to my own work that I would feel such a loss.

As I firmly believe that all of life's experiences are put in front of me to learn something from, this has been no different.  I've learned something very important.  In order to find others to be collectors of my work, I have to actually, physically and emotionally LET GO of my own work.  And what I found so surprising was how hard this is for me to do.  

I seem to often compare my paintings to the emotions I have about my children.  You make them or in this analogy, give birth to them, raise them in your moral reflection as best you can and send them off into the world to experience their own life.  I didn't have that much trouble doing this with my children, but for some odd reason I'm having a bit of trouble doing this with my paintings.  Maybe because they don't make any sounds.  They talk to me and we interact with each other, but clearly I haven't had to go through their teen years. 

So there I was kneeling on the floor after laying them all out bare without their stretcher bars to support them, preparing to roll them up so I could put them in a tube and carry them to China. 

It's true, I may have totally lost my mind.  I do spend too much time alone.  But honestly, it was hard to do this.  Hard to roll them up.  I had a different perspective.  I could see the paint strokes and colors flash before my eyes as the canvas began to curl in front of me.  I had to stop periodically and just touch the surface as if touching the cheek of a small child.  I remembered painting each one.  It brought back life experiences of time and place, people, emotions.  Looking at the colors and seeing the blending so close up reminded me of the work I put into each one of these paintings.

I wonder if anyone else goes through the separation like this with their paintings or if I've just lost it.  Some of these paintings I will never see again and I will miss terribly.  But honestly, I really need to get a grip here.  Wasn't the purpose of my painting these pieces of art to sell them? 

This is a good message to send to all you collectors out there in Collector Land.  I truly love my work.  I am my most harsh critic and when one of my pieces of art makes it to MY wall, I feel as if I've done a good job to raise this child and now I have to be strong enough to accept that you will love and care for my child, too.  These aren't just paintings to me.  These are moments in my life.  They are telling my personal history of who I am and what I was feeling at the time I painted them.  So if I find one of my children in a half way house or to keep perspective here, in a garage sale, I'm going to be very upset to know that you have abused my child.  I would hope if you tire of one of my children you will do the right thing and put it out for adoption to another loving family.