“The Tighter They’re Wound, The Harder They Unravel”
April 3, 2024
Writer: Mia Bronstein
Editor: Lily Hutchinson
“Art is basically made by dissatisfied people who are willing to find some means to relieve the dissatisfaction.” - John Chamberlain
“The tighter they’re wound, the harder they unravel,” were the white words debossed on the glass door commencing the John Chamberlain exhibit at the Aspen Museum of Art. Chamberlain’s six-decade career encompassed the sublime and spontaneous spirit of abstract expressionism to craft sculptures made from obsolete objects. When compiled together on just three floors of the esteemed museum, each piece adds a new complex layer to Chamberlain’s life story. Given it was 10:00 AM on a Wednesday, I was the only person at the exhibit. In complete silence, and essentially in solitude aside from a single security guard, I stared at the repurposed foam, car parts, and aluminum for over an hour.
Anyone who knows me understands my constant need for entertainment or activity. Sitting with my thoughts without the Daily Mini Crossword Puzzle in hand is a rare occurrence. The way Chamberlain rebirthed dated items and condensed them so taut was nearly stress-inducing for me. The longer I gazed at the chipped paint the deeper my appreciation grew. It was one of the first moments in a long time that I felt physically connected to a piece–or in this case, a collection of art–and truly understood it, without relying on a wall-pasted synopsis.
I have been tightly wound my whole life. I typically prioritize facts over feelings and emotions do not flow freely. Years of overbooking, overstimulating, and overachieving consumed my ability to seek the things I love. So much creativity has plagued my head, itching for any opportunity to turn an analytical assignment into an autobiographical passion project.
Until recently, I refused to unravel. In every facet of my life–between friendships, academics, and (internal shriek) my professional future–I never knew how to slow down. Maybe it’s because I like to distract myself by only doing things that feel comfortable or easy. Maybe it’s my long-standing habit of following the “expected” or “typical” path, prioritizing the same things as my peers, even when it didn’t matter to me. I used to see my hyper fixation personality as a bad thing and patiently awaited the day I could be self-diagnosed with a severe case of burnout. I realized that by being so tightly wound my whole life, my unraveling process happened at full speed–so much so that I don’t know where to start.
My passions have been created–constructed, if you will–through my interests and experiences. From the home music videos I produced, wrote, directed, cast, and starred in back in second grade, the late-night inspired skits I drafted, and the assembly line of paper computers I manufactured to teach myself how to type, I wasn’t just tightly wound; I was tightly wound and constructed by the micro-obsessions, ridiculous phases, and creative outlets I have always loved.
I never thought a collection of compounded metals would provide me with a glimpse of existential clarity. Never did I imagine a future in which I could gaze into a foam-filled room and find meaning. Tightly wound, high-maintenance Mia of even three years ago would have laughed in your face. But that’s the remarkable thing about rediscovery, about unraveling; it’s not supposed to be expected. Fortunately, as Chamberlain’s work asserts, I still have a long path of unraveling ahead of me.
