31, 37. 53 days

I'm making this thing.

In 31 days I move it downstairs to a very refined gallery space, certainly the swankiest I've ever presented my artwork in. I have 6 days to settle the piece in to its installation site.

In 37 days there is a big reception that all my classmates, my professors, my family and who knows who else will come to.

My exhibition is up in the gallery for two weeks.  Any time I have made a big art project before, I've lamented not having time to sit with the thing and learn from it, use it as a tool for learning, see how the tool works.  So for this piece, I will sit with and in the project during all the hours the gallery is open.  I'll continue working, and receiving visitors will become part of the peice--a natural extension of the way I already call in community as part of the research.

In 53 days I de-install this peice, pack it up, and probably store it in my parents garage.  There is no time where deinstallation of a major project hasn't been a deeply emotional, rattling experience that makes me feel, aimless, sad, numb, and honestly, no less than bereft.  Considering what a gift making art is,  it always feels weird to talk about what a big deal this is for me...and yet starting to write about it I find myself lingering on the feelings.

This time, I made a think that comes apart and straps to the top of my car. A thing I can re-make in new forms in other places. I have no idea which components of this will travel where next...or if any will at all. I also have no idea whether this open door of possibility will make the singularity of this experience feel like less of a Thing, in any good or bad ways.