Crates of vinyl records, dating back to the time before eight-track tapes, were converted to MP3, and then donated to a wonderful little record store in my neighborhood. The store owner’s expression was priceless! It was at that moment I had an epiphany: It is not the material attachment that drives memory. I did not need to lug around eleven crates of records for the rest of my life to remind me of one of the greatest Halloween parties I ever threw, where everyone came dressed as their favorite album cover. (I dressed as Cindy Lauper and sang a badass Tina Turner!)
My prized collection of iris was divided between two friends who have since divided them several times again. Every spring they each remind me how wonderful “my” iris are and it gives me such joy to think of the beautiful bouquets I have given them.
My artwork was the most challenging for me. First, there was just so much of it. Secondly, I simply could not imagine myself not surrounded by huge paintings. This is what had given my life depth and richness; it was what had identified me. I had to find a creative solution.
Some of my collections could be incorporated into my new footprint. Many of the great textiles, like the wonderful silks I’d brought from India are now on my bed; the hand carved toothpick holder from China is just the right size for my galley counter. The Russian copper coffeepot gets regular use, and my silver Argentine maté server is used every day. My handcrafted French journeys are in salon and there are smaller paintings I’ve been able to rotate into my small space.