Narcissus (Dream Narcissus), Powdered graphite on paper, 24 x 18 inches
Narcissus (Alone, you), powdered graphite on paper, 11 x 15 inches
Narcissus (August Narcissus), powdered graphite on paper, 22 x 28 inches
Narcissus (Black Narcissus), powdered graphite on paper, 22 x 28 inches
Narcissus (Come), powdered graphite on paper, 20 x 16 inches
Narcissus (Echolia), powdered graphite on paper, 20 x 16 inches
Narcissus (Evening Narcissus), powdered graphite on paper, 22 x 28 inches
Narcissus (Morning Narcissus), powdered graphite on paper, 38 x 50 inches
Narcissus (Narcissus Forgiven), powdered graphite on paper, 38 x 50 inches
Narcissus (Narcissus Lost), powdered graphite on paper, 22 x 28 inches
Narcissus (Pink Narcissus), powdered graphite on paper, 15 x 11 inches
Narcissus (Pool). powdered graphite on paper, 50 x 38 inches
Narcissus, 2008
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I made this series of self-portraits after my daughter was born—even
because of her birth. A this was your father at the time you were born
sort of gesture. I later made a series of work about her mother, my wife,
Rose.
The drawings were made from digital photographs taken of me by
my father’s son from his second marriage. I gave him the camera when my phone rang and
told him to take a bunch of pictures. I just wanted to get a sense of the
space and the scale of the figure. After a while I forgot he was taking the
pictures. I’m walking through a ravine in Ohio near where I grew up.
Narcissus is the boy who fell in love with his own reflection in a pool
of water, not realizing it was his own face looking back. The Narcissus
story is not only about Narcissus, though, and the drawings aren’t only
about me. In the drawings, I’m on the phone with a friend; he’s talking to
me about a girl he’d just met. In the myth, Echo (a nymph cursed to only
repeat the last words she hears) falls in love with Narcissus. After being
rejected by Narcissus, Aphrodite turns her into a disembodied voice,
allowing her to follow Narcissus. She echoes his words, being with him,
and driving him deeper in love with his own image. Like Echo, he wastes
away for love—his body replaced with a pale flower.
The Narcissus drawings were made by pushing powdered graphite
through a silkscreen onto paper. The graphite felt like dust—unstable
and unpredictable—matching the ambiguity of the image and a growing
desire (after my mother died) to stop trying to control things.