Endless Supply. Please take one

endless supply, please take one.

"Félix González-Torres

Untitled (L.A), 1991

Green candies in clear wrappers, endless supply"

you have died and your memory (the memory of you) still sits there. the full weight of your being measured in kilos sits in the corner waiting for someone to kneel down, read the plaque, and take a green candy wrapped in plastic. for a moment as the stranger walks away, they think of you. 

that's the thing, it'll be refilled. it'll take on its original weight again. it'll be replenished. it can be shared with every stranger in the world then more after, and still. grief in that way breaks the laws of physics, creating something out of nothing, pouring out more when there should be nothing left to give. like candy it is meant to be shared. like candy it can be sweet, savored, craved, make your teeth hurt, send a strange pain through your cheeks, or make you nauseous. 

i've come to think of each memory as something like that green candy. something wrapped in plastic with its own weight that you can roll between your fingers and let melt in your pocket. something tangible and sticky. something that your crave. 

Nostalgia is that way also, right? looking back and feeling nostalgic is like grief in its own way too. 

the plaque reads:

"The candy pile can be refilled, this way the artist invites us to think about loss, memory, and care, especially since the work way made the same year the artist's partner Ross, died from an AIDS-related illness"