Consider how art, the artifact, is a marker for personal existence. It is a way to establish personal being. It is a reminder of worth, of personal activity, a memory now visible to others, proof of existence, proof of participation, proof of ideas, thinking manifested in material form.
I live with these reminders, remainders of activity. They reflect my effort while taking their own form. Even though it seems they exist, like obedient children, there is no they, consciousness is absent. My identity connects to them and reminds me that I acted and I transformed materials into personal meaning. I can only do this if I am conscious, with energy, with thought, with skill, with knowledge, in time. It is a reminder, a remainder of activity within life, as Life.
It seems as I write this that there are layers of reminders, layers of acknowledgment of being and doing, of participation, of power. Is this necessary because Life is always changing, leaving no record except memory, which is so insubstantial? Do we seek artifact to prove our existence? Must we pin down the ghost of our being so that others can agree to our worth, our substance? Look at the (art) work and see the record of my existence - my effort, my consciousness, my being here in Life. Without it maybe there was no substance to me, maybe I never existed, maybe this never was. What proof can be offered that I was in Life, that Life existed as me?
I can live with this anxiety and insist on manufacturing articles of identity or realize that the death of personal importance releases me from the burden of proof.
(Image: The Proof of My Existence)
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