I’ve been thinking a lot about the word legacy lately. The idea of leaving something of ourselves behind to future generations. Sure, you may have kids, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
The other day I was talking to a woman about legacy as it related to a book she was contemplating writing. She’s got 30 years of valuable material stuffed into cardboard boxes kept in her living room with no idea how to organize any of it. She took the word to mean that once that book was written and published, she was done….like permanently done. Six-feet-under done. Who would want to write that sort of book, I ask you? I sure as hell wouldn’t.
But when I think of legacy, I think of an artist friend of mine, who has his life’s work stuck in a storage container fifty miles away. After he downsized, he didn’t know what else to do with his paintings. It had been years since his work hung in galleries, so he doesn’t feel like finding a new display venue is an option. Nor is he tech savvy, so creating an online store isn’t something he wants to pursue. So there it all sits, smoldering in the dark, until someone handling his estate finds the key. Or the storage company dumps it in a heap.
If you could see his work!
Those of us with a body of work need to consider what to do with it. Because what value does it have if it goes to the grave with you?
