I once imagined what it would be like to disappear. From the earth, society, my self. To be a hole. And what it would be like to exist so completely, that I could be omnipresent, on earth, in society, to my self. Whole. And it was with Georgia that I experienced this.
We went, along with Jim Benn, a fellow ArtSlant writer, to see Yayoi Kusama's retrospective at the Pompidou while I was visiting Paris, but we didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. We had no idea that we would swim in circles, that to see Kusama's prime motif, the dot, represented, over and over again, in systematic repetition would leave us simultaneously dizzy and hyper-aware.
After a close examination of the eighty-three-year-old artist's obsessions and fantasies, we spun into a room called Infinity Room (Filled with the brilliance of life), where everything was dark, and mirrors hung everywhere, projecting the primary colored lights onwards into the future. I remember Georgia looking around, wide-eyed and brilliant smile, breathless and gushing, whispering, "Oh this is just awesome." In my story for her afterwards, I write: "We feel infinite, full, whole, re-affirmed. We giggle at the magic of it, or the science of it, and child-like, yearn to dive into the floor, or fly into the ceiling, and, open to everything, obliterate."
We didn't try to make meaning of it afterwards. We drank coffee and talked about life, but ever so often, the conversation steered back to how happy the dots had made us feel. As if we had filled up a full circle, or the full circle had filled us. I can't believe she isn't here to give and give and spread the circles forward as she always did, but I sense that in her disappearance, she will be omnipresent.
—Himali Singh Soin
[Image on top: Yayoi Kusama, Infinity Room (Filled with the brilliance of life), 2011, Installation view at Centre Pompidou, Mirrors and colored lights; Courtesy of the artist and Centre Pompidou, Paris.]