My cat, George, destroyed my favorite artwork, “Air,” a white wholecloth art quilt stretched like a canvas to heighten its sculptural qualities, like a frieze. I made it with a domestic sewing machine in New York. It depicts a nude. The model was me.
George has apparently been climbing up this quilt like he climbs up window screens.
I caught him near the top this morning, hanging onto the nude’s face by his claws. He dropped down, leaving a scratch so large some batting came out of it. Claw holes are evident all over the piece.
When I made “Air” in 2011, I partly wanted to preserve an image of my youth. I wasn’t all that young then — 43, actually — but I was aware as ever that I was only going to look worse from there. I often imagined my future self, aged and decrepit, recalling my younger firmer body. Better make a marker in time to facilitate that, I thought. And here I am today, behaving exactly as predicted.
Is my quilt ruined? Or is it still in progress, like my body itself? Perhaps George isn’t its destroyer but a collaborator, adding his own marks to my former image.
George is destructive. Cori calls him “terrorist.” He’s a naughty cat.
Also I love him. Should I waste energy being mad? George’s arrival after my beloved cat Lola’s departure was the only bright spot in a horrible year, clarifying that love was more important than order, clean rugs, or intact artworks. “Air” might be ripped up, but my heart isn’t…Actually my heart is; Lola and Momo left claw marks all over it. But unlike the quilt, my heart regenerates. Scarred, sure, but it only gets bigger, making ever more room for more cats and their claw holes.
My body, aging and decrepitizing as it is, also regenerates. It’s falling apart faster than it’s rebuilding, but it has a long way to go before it’s ruined beyond repair. Maybe I should let George keep ripping up “Air”. Maybe it can serve as a protective charm, like the Picture of Dorian Gray. Let my image be ruined while my actual body lives.
Coincidentally I just installed another white wholecloth quilt stretched on a frame, “Shiva Natraj,” at a friend’s house (without pets). Shiva represents destruction and creation. George entered my life when Lola left. I would have clung to Lola forever, but cats die, like all living things. Whatever is created is destroyed. Lola is gone; George is here. Someday George will be gone and if I’m still alive and able, another kitten will be coming up right behind him. That’s how life works: not through eternal preservation, but through regeneration.
Yes, I think I’ll leave “Air” where it is, to become a scratching post for George. Whatever is created is destroyed. That goes for me, and George, and every living thing, and every physical thing, and Art.
