What was Lost

My job at Jeff Koons' studio comes with many benefits. Not the least of which is it's location in Chelsea, and proximity to over 500 of the most successful galleries in the world.

And so, my lunch breaks are taken up with lengthy constitutionals accompanied by my good friend and colleague Adam Miller. Last Wednesday, the galleries of choice were Stricoff and DFN, two on my list of possible venues for my work because both show several artists who also graduated from the New York Academy of Art. It was at DFN on this fair day (well actually rather dreary), that we came across the haunting work of Dan Witz.

This is a man after my own heart. His soulful use of tenebrist light could stir the sentiment of even the most cynical gallery goers. They depict seemingly meaningless and forgotten moments in such a way as to point out what we might have missed along the way.

The school crossing might be the moment long ago in early September, when I drove home from rehearsal for the high-school play, exhausted and proud. The ice machine is the half remembered acquaintance once met on a midnight road trip from some anonymous place to another. Lit by the buzz of gas station lights, he is familiar to my dreaming. And this woman I perhaps recall from a single glance, checking a voice mail as I walked by a restaurant in pursuit of my own thoughts. These too are companions to history and are worthy of remembrance. These are the moments which, once forgotten are lost to eternity, yet coalesce to form our existence. These too are the fabric of our very lives.