Losing and Finding Things

I am currently going through a frenzy of cleaning and sorting, which means I am finding all sorts of things...mostly things worth handing on, others to be donated and then yet others whose only place is the trash.

Things worth keeping are filled with memories, fit well, still have a purpose, are well loved, all of the above or some combination of the above. When it comes to art I keep those works that I bought, were handed to me by family, or those that were given to me in unusual circumstances. There was the Thanksgiving I volunteered at a men's shelter and one of the men complained that there was no milk. When I returned from my short jaunt to the corner store with a gallon of milk, he was slightly perplexed and gave me an ink drawing he had done of a Native American woman he sometimes saw in his dreams. She had strength and would protect me. I had to burn the edges of the laminated cardboard to bring her presence into my life. I did and she still hides in my home, a memory of strength when I have none.

In the process of all this clearing, and remembering, a friend emailed me a drawing that he had found in his own organizing process before an extended trip. The drawing is from the summer we met. He had just decided to dedicate his life and time to art, and this drawing comes from our mutual time at an art school in Santa Fe where I was posing and he working as the Studio Assistant.

Read Lockhart, random drawing of Moi

His email was mocking in tone, laughing at work from a time that was filled with personal anxiety as he launched into a new life. Now he works full time as an artist, currently in Taos, New Mexico but thinking of moving. After all his training, he had decided to go find his own way with paint, and spent several years away from his mentors, favorite paintings, and colleagues. Now he paints with greater confidence, though he might laugh also to hear me say that, as there are plenty of days where a painting still won't go what he was prepared for it to take it in the morning.

For me, it's strange to find an image of myself from a time that has little to do with my life now, though it still inflects my life in little ways. I would have been so excited to know that I would have the life I gained, but there were many jobs, lovers, apartments, and states (both of the United States and disordered states of being) between that summer and today. I had to get rid of a lot to be here now.

The process of getting rid of detritus is also a way of finding who you are now. Some of my favorite clothes are brightly colored. I don't need lots of books I like; I'd rather donate a mystery library to a friend then hoard them on the shelf. I am more even keel now than I was in the days that this picture was drawn. I smile more. I cook even less often. But for all the things that I am not, there are all the things I am. And from all the things I get rid of, there are all the things I hold most dear. Most dearly are friendships, like the one that so unexpectedly occurred over a pose in a class we both enjoyed leaving behind.