One of the most amazing exhibits was "Everything That Rises Must Converge" by artist Petah Coyne. And I tell you, it was every bit as intricate, creepy and beautiful as its literary namesake.
Suffice to say, Ms. Coyne can evoke a hell of a lot of emotion with black sand, dead birds, wax, metal and flowers.
In a back grotto, we came across this:
Untitled #720 (Eguchi's Ghost)
It was in alone in a dark room, about the size of a Mini Cooper, hanging motionless and so amazingly, deliciously creepy.
I had that feeling-- the one that many of you may be familiar with-- the one that whispers away an image away for later use, that begins adapting and applying and knitting it into the fabric of this possibility or that. I knew I would see this figure in my dreams and that maybe a reflection of it would appear in some later novel or story. I mean this thing was stealth and fear and stillness and beauty.... and quite (at present) beyond words. But I wanted those words.
Though it sounds rather drab to say it, I was inspired. No snazzy "spark" imagery-- light bulbs and lightning and falling apples-- and all that, just the back-of-the-spine-chill of visiting the grotto where Untitled #720 (Eguchi's Ghost) lurks.
In some karmic wheel of inspiration, the artist was inspired by fiction: "The House of Sleeping Beauties", a Japanese novella about an old man, approaching death, who visits a house where he can sleep among young unconscious young women.
And thus, methinks, inspiration jumps (or in this case, creeps) from one of us to another, whispering along its many paths.
What inspires you? How do you channel (or track) your inspiration?
