Looking back at the only trace of this grand experiment, this poor photo-document of the mess before I balled it all up and slam-dunked it into the nearest bin, I see there is some method in all the madness of crocheting ripped strips of painting canvasses. Some hooey about tying the foundation of high art to ‘low-art’ craft. But the thing doesn’t exist anymore because there was a basic problem: there is no art in the object. And herein lies (lays?) the happy accident: in the making I discovered that having a concept is not enough to carry the work; it must appeal at another, non-cerebral, aesthetic level. That doesn't mean it has to be pretty, but it has to be pretty intriguing.
This big ol’ six-foot doily fell flat.
That was so 2010. Today I wouldn’t need to wrestle with dusty canvas strips and giant crochet hooks to see that the idea was fatally flawed. So some progress has been made.
I also see it between the lines in the CVs of established artists. At first glance the websites are impressive, with online gallery slideshows featuring one ingenius project after another. Now I know better. No one emerges fully formed, but experiments and ruminates and incubates and makes mistakes and ditches the failed attempts and moves on.
I have to believe the project didn’t come together all at once and fully realized, but perhaps began early in the artist’s development. Somewhere along the line there has to be the equivalent of a junked giant doily.