Date With a Power Saw

In 1985 I painted my first big painting. It was four feet tall and eight feet wide, and weighed close to 60 pounds. I know this because I once put it on a bathroom scale. I made a bunch of paintings like this, all unwieldy and cumbersome, because a college professor had convinced me that painting on wood panels was the best solution for large scale work. Stretched canvas, it seemed, was prone to warping. What he didn't tell me (or I didn't hear) was that I should make damn sure the painting was going to be spectacular before I went to the trouble of making it huge.

Sadly, over time it became clear to me that this painting wasn't very good. But it also wasn't very bad. And so it became increasingly troublesome as I moved from lofts to apartments to houses in different cities and states. I never hung the painting. You've never seen it. It isn't on my website. It lived mostly in a great big shipping box. I'd only look at it once every three or four years when I needed to move. Each time I peeked in its box, I half hoped to be surprised by my creation, as if I would finally discover something amazing that had previously eluded me. But each time it remained a solidly mediocre, four by eight foot, sixty pound thing - now with a light dusting of mildew. So today, while spring cleaning the garage, I decided to deal with it. I un-wedged the painting from behind a stack of ladders and scrap lumber and piles of other not-so-good paintings. I peeled back the U-Haul quilt and exposed my painting to the full light of day for the first time in years. It still disappointed me. The only surprise was that every half-good thing about it had resurfaced in other paintings I've done since then. Finally the thing had no real purpose left. It was time for the power saw.

I know plenty of artists who manage to recycle the work they don't like. They paint over it, or incorporate it into something else, or raid it for parts. Still others find comfort in the idea that all works of creation are part of an ongoing personal journey that has intrinsic value for the creator, regardless of whether the works are 'good' or not. In my case, I may recycle the ideas in a work of art, but find I'm too troubled by the physicality of a mediocre creation to let the work survive another incarnation. For those of you who find the materiality of art problematic (or the proliferation of man made 'things' in general), you'll know what I mean when I say the poor choices that result in a crummy work of art have a multiplying effect on the very materials used to bring the work into existence. These objects resist transformation. This is why I'm happy to own a variety of power saws.

As I halved, then quartered, eighthed and finally sixteenthed the painting with my saw, I found myself cutting the pieces into increasingly irregular shapes, as if to outwit some imaginary trash picker who might be curious about piecing my big failure back together. In my cosmology, this person would somehow have a fine arts degree, and would be bitter about the circumstances that led him to puzzle with other people's trash. From sheer spite, he would go to great lengths to reassemble my object of shame for his own amusement. So for this reason, I disposed of the fragments in separate dumpsters.

And now for the benefit of those of you who may be embarking on a similar portfolio cleansing, I offer the following tips:

Only careful deliberation will make clear which of your 'iffy' works should travel any further with you on your journey. Once you're sure which ones are crying out for the landfill, you'll need a good saw. I recommend the reciprocating type, like a Sawzall. These allow for a variety of curved and angled cuts, and with the right blade you can make short work of even the toughest materials. Plus they are fun to work with.

Before you go 'Shiva' on your inferior creation, take a moment to make peace with it. If its really bad, you may like to forgive it. I'd recommend you have a beer while doing this, but only one, since you'll be working with power tools. If possible, you'll want to set about this work on a sunny day. If it's cloudy you might get sad about your life, which is pointless and undermines the task at hand. Also, don't be listening to the Cure.

Next, to avoid cold feet, be sure to approach the work from the back side as you tear into it.

Finally, once your piece has been rendered asunder, consider disposing of it in a dumpster that will allow some anonymity. You can find these at your nearby mall. Just look for a store that's in bankruptcy, like a Borders. Chances are good there will still be a dumpster round the back.

When you are finally home, try a little light TV watching. You must steadfastly avoid writing poetry, or blogging about your day. These activities could result in something else you will later need to destroy.

For those who find my approach to purging obsessive or melodramatic, remember that the creation of these objects required many hours spent physically manipulating materials. You literally wrestle your creations into being. It's only fitting that the act of decommissioning them as art objects should take a similar hands-on approach. Simply tossing a work into the trash doesn't require the full participation by the artist in one of the most important steps in the creative process. At least this is how I justified taking an entire afternoon to reduce my big painting to what resembled a pile of roofing shingles from a Dr. Seuss house. Besides, It's only by actually taking your work apart that you can talk about 'deconstruction' and have the slightest clue of what you really mean.