Posted by Mark Woods on Sun Sep 14, 2003 4:28:33 AM
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I loved Susan Goldman's show at Momenta in 2002. I had never seen her work before that, but I remember thinking that show was funny and scary and elegant, whimsical and ominous, with tendencies both utopian and dystopian. I learned from some printed matter at Momenta (the press release, maybe?) that she had killed herself recently and that she had lived in New York. I remember thinking then how sad it was that a fellow New Yorker whose work I liked so much could die before I knew who had made it. As far as I knew at that moment, I had never heard of her before, and did not know what she looked like. Today I know what she looked like only because I just now came across her memorial Web pages by accident, having run a search on Google for images of art made by one of the artists who happens to be mentioned in one of the captions of a photo on the memorial Web pages. Now that I can put her face together with her name and work, I realize that I had met her and you, Craig Kalpakjian (apparently this page's administrator), once at some art opening or other. For a couple of years I had noticed the two of you together from across gallery rooms during art openings. I always thought the two of you looked great together, and (without really thinking about it much, of course) I think I admired the way you seemed to enjoy one another while supporting the artist-friends whose receptions you were attending. I also remember noticing later that I no longer saw her with you when I saw you (CK) across gallery rooms at art openings. Now I know why, and I'm sad about it and sorry for your loss. I can also think of your work in new ways now, Craig Kalpakjian. Not more accurately--I don't presume that this gives me any added access to what you intend by the work you make. Rather, it sets me to thinking about a wider range of emotional and psychological readings of your work than I had previously considered. Call it vicarious/virtual/remote empathy. In a sense, my experience of knowing you and Susan Goldman *only* visually and indirectly--from across gallery rooms and through the work you exhibited separately--this experience, in a sense, is not unrelated to your work's themes of vicarious/virtual/remote surveillance. Which, in turn, might be not unrelated to your experience (or perhaps even Susan Goldman's experience) of receiving this e-mail from someone you don't know. Come to think of it, I'm unsure whether I would better honor the spirit of your work by sending this e-mail or by not sending it and just storing it on my computer. In any case, I hope these speculations do not seem insensitive. I intend them in the most generous spirit possible. I know an artist who tells me that one of his reasons for attending opening receptions at art galleries is so that others will be able to put together his face with his name and his work. That's not the best reason to attend them, of course, but it's not the worst one either, and although I have no way of knowing whether it was one of Susan Goldman's reasons, I find it sad and sweet that just today I finally put together her face with her name and her work (and with yours). I know that I sometimes fear that I will die before I've managed to find the right audience for my work, and that even if an audience some day finds my work after I'm gone, they will still not have found me. Today, a very small part of Susan Goldman's audience (me) found more of her than he had thus far found. My memory of her work is more alive now. That's not an earth-shaking occurrence, but I figure it might be one of this Web page's reasons-for-being, since the people who knew Susan Goldman personally are more likely to remember her to one another directly than to make use of this guestbook. Strangers are apparently still able to benefit from it, as is (however tenuously) Susan Goldman's place in art history and in collective cultural memory. So thanks. And hang in there. |
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