Shelf Portrait Update
Well...here's what happened. The show started at 2:00pm on Saturday, and I got there by 2:30-ish, thinking that if I had arrived right at 2:00, no one would be there. Silly me!!
Oy, there was such a line-up of people. Who knew so many people in the city wanted free books? (Though I assume people also came to see the display and meet the artist and get a feel for what the show was all about). When I finally got to the front of the line to get in, I discovered that I was required to get a time ticket, which I had to give to the ticket-taker when my allotted scheduled viewing time came up. When I asked about tickets, I was told that the next batch of tickets wasn't available until 4:30! As much as I wanted to see the show, I really didn't have the energy to wait 2 hours downtown. So I shruggged my shoulders and hiked it out of there. I know, bummer. But it was really quite heartening, the crowds of book-people in that small gallery space! And hopefully I'll try again before the show closes.
I also found out a little bit more information regarding Robin Pacific's motivations for creating this unique book show, in a recent article in Toronto's Globe and Mail:
"There's been a lot of interest by the public," said Peter Kingstone, director of the Red Head Gallery. "Most people just can't believe that someone would give away all their books. I know that I -- and many people agree -- think of my collection as a portrait of me. I can look through my collection of books and see the movement of my ideas and where I've gone and where I came from. The idea of divesting myself from it like Robin is doing seems to be quite radical, scary and exciting."
Like Mr. Kingstone, Ms. Pacific believes her book collection provides a self-portrait and a connection to her own past. However, recent tragic events -- the deaths of her husband three years ago, and two close friends within the past year -- have prompted her to sever that link.
"I feel weighed down by the past," she says, standing among wooden shelves where the books are hung from their spines on string, like laundry hanging out to dry.
"I think by the time you reach my age there's an awful lot of it. It's a lightening and liberating feeling to let go of some of it."
You can read the rest of the article here.
If I were to think about my own life, I would agree that my books are a big part of my identity, past and present. Future, too, if you count my ever-increasing to-be-read pile. And my husband's books, they are also a part of my life, because they are an extension of my beloved husband, who is a very big part of my world. If I were ever in Robin's position (and I shudder to think of it) what would I do? Could I let go of all the books of my life? Would I want to? Would you? Losing a library would be like tearing off a limb for me – or quite frankly, ripping my heart out. I've lost a library once, and it was an unbearably painful experience that I'll never forget. Could I go through that pain again? And in the end, do I have a choice?
