Notes from an obsessive/compulsive butterfly

A few days ago I started to write about a new work that I am particularly excited about, and before that, a question I had posed to myself about minimalism. Both references are to the same piece of work. But I wasn’t ready to show it, and the principal reason is this: the work is finished, in the sense that the physical execution is done: a tiny, tiny, tiny gesture. That was my objective, but it is also the problem: the word ‘gesture’. It sounds like a shrug of the shoulders, or a flicker of indifference. Nonchalant. Yet there was so much thought invested before I made the ‘mark’ (I couldn’t possibly tell you over how much time – it would sound insane). Then, afterwards, consolidating those thoughts to verify to myself that I had achieved what I set out to do, followed by thinking of an appropriate title that didn’t undermine everything. It all adds up to something which is so inversely proportional to the gesture that I am left with a feeling somewhere between uneasiness and elation. Oddly, that might be a good thing.