A Great Mystery / by Chris Hall

Cy Twombly, Bacchanalia - Fall, (1977)

When I create an artwork, especially when I create an artwork without a safety net, that is working without a plan, working through intuition, it is often only after the work is finished that I can discover any real meaning.  My discovered meaning, then, holds about as much weight as any meaning discovered by my audience.  This, to me, is the difference between creating an art object and a work of art that lives, breathes, and has a life of its own, beyond my intentions.  This, perhaps, is where the possibility of creating something that might be greater than one's self may lay.  How strange it is to look at these works, works that you yourself have created, with a sense of wonder.  It is a mystery.  What is the origin? Where does such work come from?  What does it mean?