Reflections on the preciousness of art

When I have shown sections of my map in galleries I have encouraged people to run their hands over the surface so that they could distinguish between parts that were photocopy and parts that were "first generation" collage or acrylic. Some people were horrified. The look-don't-touch principle applies to most art that is put on display.

But, as I said in a recent blog posting, my art is "of this world." I like that it responds to the world it inhabits, that kids with grubby fingers leave slight smudges, that a few drops of water from my freshly rinsed brush make the inkjet print bleed, that the acid-ful paper of the earliest panels yellows and cracks.

I suppose that what most artists cater to is part self-monumentalization and part succumbing to the requirements of the art buying patrons that their precious investment never fade, crack, smear, shrink, or be altered in any other way.

But life is about change. Time is change. All art will, at some time, disappear. I don't want my map to disappear. That's not the point. I just want it to reflect its having been in the world.