We had some water leakage in our basement over the weekend. Not that much, and the repair bill to the plumber was under a thousand, but some of the things that got wet were my few remaining paintings that I had done when that was my go to medium. Good sized canvasses, mostly oils. We moved them from the basement to the garage, spread out, leaning on every surface we could put them up against. Moved my car out and used the sawhorses. I think they are all ok enough to keep.
Now I was prolific in those days, so the ones I have kept all these years are only the most significant ones. As we moved them out of the water, I faced the possibility of losing the material proof that an important part of my life actually did happen. The person who painted those pieces doesn't exist anymore, I have changed much, but that artwork still stirred deep feelings. When the current set of crisis calm down I will have to photograph them - at least a few of them have never been officially done, and several others are only documented in slides, or 4 x 5 transparencies.
The saddest thing is that I am not sure that my art has actually progressed since then. That stupid leaky valve opened a floodgate of difficult thoughts. If anything cohesive surfaces I promise to post it.
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