Planned Obsolescence

Sometimes beauty is purposely ephemeral, created solely for a brief span of time, meant to dissolve or decay, disappear or be devoured. Its very impermanence is meant to underscore the special quality of the time for which it is created. One sees this in window displays, holiday tables, elaborate birthday cakes and in wedding celebrations. A fantasy world is created, impossibly perfect dishes are served, clouds of billowing organza and thousands of fragrant flowers are whisked into a single day's worth of heady scent and glorious excess to be enjoyed ever after only in memory. This temporal quality emphasizes the rarity and the uniqueness of the moment. Temporary excess heightens our emotional responses to an event.

Sometimes the excess seems truly wretched or obscenely wasteful, such as when a perfect wedding dress is purposely destroyed and photographed at the moment of its destruction, as has become more popular in recent years. To me this feels like a huge waste of beauty, and I abhor the willful destruction of something that could bring pleasure to others if sold or donated to someone without the resources to buy or make it. Others see it as an artistic act and a whimsical way to celebrate something usually seen as very serious.

I have trouble with the concept of destruction as artistic action; I think of art as the result of creation, of building, of bringing together. Celebrating the act of destroying something of beauty so that it can never again be enjoyed often seems meanspirited to me. However, I must also admit that there can be delight in creating something special that is meant to be impermanent so that it exists primarily in memory.

Some artworks are made out of ephemeral materials on purpose so that they decay or degrade on cue. This can be quite disturbing or even funny: the perfect ice sculpture that devolves into a drippy puddle; the elegant Thanksgiving dinner that gives way to a table featuring a dissected and desiccated carcass; the sparkling pile of Christmas gifts that so quickly becomes a trash-strewn testament to excess and waste.

Part of me aches when I see something lovely and intricate created out of ephemeral materials treated as so much random material to be devoured and displaced. But I've made so many ephemeral artworks over the years and put so much work into things that were supposed to be eaten, discarded or enjoyed for a brief moment that I understand the other side, too.

There's pleasure in making something special and evanescent to celebrate the special quality of a particular moment in time. However, I usually keep mine to things I can do in a few hours, and I do generally hope that my works are enjoyed enough to make the recipient think them worth keeping. I've made so many intricate cards in carefully designed envelopes, decorated thousands of elaborately illustrated cookies, sewn so many excruciatingly detailed costumes for my daughter for special events and made some birthday cakes that took half a day just to decorate. These might seem frivolous, time-wasting activities, but they heightened the importance of something usually considered of little value, and that showed evidence of my regard for others and of my desire to please them. Such carefully planned gestures are rare enough that they make a strong and positive impression on others. Having the power to please others with my talents gives me joy.

I do love wowing people with grand gestures, especially when they show inordinate and unexpected care and effort on their behalf. Such creative work is a form of devotion, like a scribe copying a Bible or a Tibetan monk making intricate mandalas out of sand which will be blown away within days. Partly it seems a waste, I know. But it's meant to celebrate and appreciate the transitory nature of pleasure and of life itself. It's a form of memento mori art, something that moves me and which I've spent a lot of time thinking about and studying. It shows up in my work rather often, actually, as I've written about previously here in my blog.

I don't want to make a grand gesture just to impress the public; that wouldn't be nearly as much fun as doing it for a friend, and would be done simply to show off, which can feel rather embarrassing. Certainly part of the fun comes from making the grand gesture as a way to show off my skills and determination; I'd be lying if I said it wasn't. But another part, the greatest part for me, is the joy I get from anticipating the pleasure I can bring to another from my painstaking care. Spending time focusing on an item specifically meant to bring pleasure to another is something I do to show respect and admiration. I see it as a way to show obeisance to the sacred and beautiful elements within the person to whom I make my gift.

I enjoy spectacle on a small scale, and lavishing great detail on a work made in an intimate format, so that the object of my attention feels personally drawn in and celebrated. It is a way to pay homage to the precious nature of the fleeting moments shared with someone worthy of care. Grand ice buildings are remarkable and entertaining works of art to share with the world at large, but I'd rather put my care into making something that matters to a specific someone.