#howifailed
This is how I failed at this 12 Intrigues project.
I learned an enormous amount while f(l)ailing. I made video, sound, met new people, got to know some folks I knew better, felt the time move both quickly and slowly, added new words to my vocabulary, and wrote more poetry than I had written in a long time.
I am extremely grateful to the artist that inspired the project, he is still an inspiration. But, I want him to enjoy the benefits of privacy and therefore, he remains anonymous.
See what else I made.
#part1
The story begins about 5 years ago when we met at a residency. I was up late every night arguing with my husband (rough patches DO happen) and he was in his studio. Painting. I liked being so close to the act of creation-- the very precipice, like a delivery room. And from that vantage point, I could hear the newborn wails of work that was unusual, intriguing, and somehow genius. It was really very innocent ... as beginnings go.
#part3
In Paris there was nothing to see between us. On my last day, I waited for him for hours-- in the wrong place. This meant something to me and I still have the notebook from that day, where I doodled my thoughts to pass the time. He waited for me too.
#part2
After some late nights with our staunch companions vodka and grape juice, we shared tales of love triangles, pentagons, and other shapes, but we weren't yet friends ... we were friendly. Friendly enough to meet in Paris.
#part4
The pivot came this year, three years beyond the weighted waiting of Paris, when our communication went from sporadic to something more intense. His emails were a code for me to decipher. Although English was not his first tongue, he taught me new ways to move in the language. With Google Translate between us it was a stimulating intellectual tryst. Words like "lightning" and "pupate" flung casually across the ether like craven limbs.
I made poems out of his emails. He said he could draw me with his eyes closed.
#part5
Somewhere between subject lines like "fever" and "sigh" with salutations as leading as, "vulnerable love natasha," I lost my shit. There's a word for this, it's "limerence" ... it is nothing at all like love. It's more like a delusional bonsai plant you must water with your own tendency towards drama.
The Failure of the Year began with fear. I could have been plain and said, "XXX, I've conjured up a ridiculous longing for you/your words, and I don't know how to stop it or halt it or make it go away," but instead I started a project called 12 Intrigues, to (as I wrote to him) "shield and deflect" my feelings for him. It was "an intense venture" as he called it. But it was all a lie. There was only one artistic intrigue in my life.
#coda
"you have horns?
i can find only one." - Him
Not famililiar with Limerence? Neither was I. You live and you learn.
Find out more here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limerence