Timing

I have often heard the word timing used as an explanation — sometimes as an excuse — for why certain artists are elevated while others remain unseen.

There seems to be an invisible circle of gatekeepers — what I call the art Caesars — those who decide who steps into the light and who is left in the shadows, whether during life or long after death.

At times, death appears to be the most efficient art dealer and publicist. I cannot measure how many great artists have been forgotten, but it is undeniable that many were only recognized at the end of their lives — or once they were no longer here to witness it.

Visión del Apocalipsis, El Greco, c.1610

My knowledge of art history is limited to what I have encountered, yet much of what I’ve seen exists in half-light: neither famous nor entirely invisible, but struggling for enough recognition to survive — and therefore to continue creating.

One of my foundational artists is El Greco. He endured rejection and even ridicule in his time. Centuries later, his work was retrieved from historical dust and reframed as visionary.

History and life can be brutal, even butchers. So can the mechanisms that decide relevance.

When timing turns against you, recognition may arrive only after death — a cruel alignment between legacy and absence.

Timing.