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?

Comments

[Carmi]

My coping mechanism revolves around a somewhat different view of books. They are not mine, per se. Rather, I am their temporary steward, responsible for their care and feeding for as long as I'm blessed enough to have the health and the ability to do so.

And when the day comes that I need to downsize or otherwise devote my energies to other things, it will be my responsibility to identify and engage other shepherds for the next phase in the life of these (not really "my") books.

It's the only way I know to accept that my beloved holders of words will continue to enlighten and enthrall others, just as they enlightened and enthralled me. And inspired me to create my own words and my own worlds.

[callie]

I recently went through the terrible experience of losing all of my data -- not only all my client work for the past seven years...but everything I've ever written...ever (other than the paper journals that I still have.) It was a very difficult experience, I felt gutted. How could I move forward without all the stuff that is me?

All the data was eventually recovered, but I didn't know it would be recoverable for several weeks. After the initial shock wore off (every family photo, documenting every trip we've ever taken, gone), I began to feel quite free. I began to think "Okay, so what? I'm alive, I'm healthy, I'm here in this moment." I could either live & move forward or mourn all of this stuff from my past that wasn't going to necessarily change my future.

I finally got to the point where I realized my future is what I create now (and right now, and right now) and that the stuff of the past tends to muck that up a bit. So. While I ended up getting it all back -- I spent almost a month without it and it WAS freeing. I felt able to start fresh, start anew, without having to consider the work that came before. I think there IS something powerful in that and although I would NEVER want to give up my library, I did recently pare it down so I could share those books with others who needed them and so I could make room for the possibility of new books that might interest me and live among my shelves awhile.

[Beth]

I will occasionally "purge" my collection of books because I feel I should share with others the joy of reading. But I must confess, I keep my very favourite books.
And while we all ponder how we will feel giving up our "collections" one day - it's something that has to be done - and it's best to do it sooner rather than later - while we still can.
Clearing out my husband's parents' home was brutal. They couldn't do it on their own. Lesson learned.

[Isabella]

What an interesting thing! I hope you still get a chance to go. There's something to it, that a collection is a reflection or a portrait, and the inevitable gaps you'll see if/when you do get around to going are like a portrait negative, the bits that resonate enough with other people for them to take it away. (Not sure I'd call it art, though.)

I can't imagine any event that would inspire me to rid myself of all my books, but if I had to, I know I could. The realization happens in tiny little bits — ruin a book here, lose a photo there — that at the end of the day, it's not what I am, none of it really matters. But I wouldn't actively choose to negate myself.

(You lost a library once? You haven't written about it here, have you?)

[patricia]

No, Isabella, I haven't written about it, but I might in the near future...very personal, have to be careful how to present it...

[R J Keefe]

I'm at the stage where a book has to go every time a new one comes in. That's the theory, anyway. Sometimes, it's the book that's trying to come in that doesn't get to stick around.

Thanks to Callie for her heartening story. I'm not sure that I could hold myself together after such a devastating loss.

[Julie]

If the unthinkable were to happen to my husband I'd sooner get rid of his clothes than his books. There is something so dear and intimate about the books of someone you love: the books they chose, held in their hands, lived inside. And yet, with my own possessions, I am ruthless about purging -- not a packrat at all.

[patricia]

Yes, Julie, I agree with you about how precious the books of a loved one can be. I actually had a conversation with my husband yesterday about this morbid topic. He said that on practical level he would figure I would have to get rid of most of his books (he actually owns much more than I do) but that he hoped I would hang on to a few treasured items, as a memento of him.

Ugh! Can't bear to think of it!

[Heather]

Losing a library and choosing to give up your library are very different. I wondered if it was something such as loss which motivated her. I know that it would be horrifying for me to lose my library but I suppose if I volunteered to do so (don't know why I would) then it could be a feeling of release.

[Kate S.]

It's very interesting. As attached to my personal library as I am though, I don't conceptualize it as a portrait of me and so I don't think that divesting myself of it would have the effect for me that the artist is after. It certainly reflects my past interests. But it's my future as well as my past because it contains so many as yet unread books. And even the books from my past don't mire me in that past because I know perfectly well that if I reread them now they would be different books--as I've changed my perceptions and experience of the books will change. The exception would be my childhood favourites which I often experience as trips back in time. But I've deliberately collected them for that, for their positive associations.

[Carl V.]

Glad you got to go though sorry you weren't able to have the complete experience. I still think it is a fascinating idea and doesn't surprise me that it had a large turnout.

[ombudsben]

There's an old saying, three moves is as good as a fire.

I lived in one place for eight years once, and to move all my stuff from a roomy shared flat to a single apartment my library needed a fire.

I boxed up eight boxes of books and took them to bookstores and made some money off them. It felt good. Got even more value in credit from Green Apple book on SF's Clement Street, and that felt great.

Since then I've gone looking for things numerous times and been unable to find them.

Afterward I sit in my chair, thwarted and glum or frustrated and think: it went during that move. I know it. I just know it.

If I ever lost all my books I suspect it would be a sort of biblio amnesia for me. I'd wander from room to room and wonder where I'd gone.