Dylan Lynch

It has been sixteen years since my last confession.

Ever since my baptism, I had a force-fed, faith-filled, church-going upbringing that remained unquestioned until my late teens. Every Sunday, my father, mother, three older brothers, and I would go to church where I would doodle, pay as little attention as possible, and lie to the priest when it came time to confess. He, in return, would assign me an arbitrary number of Hail Marys and Our Fathers to recite and, with as little work as possible, I had my first communion and was confirmed. I was a proper Catholic, destined for the pearly gates.

During that forced-faith time, I sang soprano in a successful boys choir from 1997 to 2002. We performed Handel’s Messiah every year for the holidays, recorded for the score of Good Will Hunting, and toured Europe, singing in some of the world’s most famous cathedrals. I was introduced to the idea that success in something creative required endless improvement; I developed my skill through daily vocal lessons and summers spent learning theory and singing in hospitals for the old and sick.

Although I began to abandon my responsibilities as a confirmed Catholic - refusing to go to church or repent for any sins - I remained intrigued by my religious upbringing. The aesthetics of the church never escaped me.

At twenty-five, the potential of a career as an artist became a bit more promising, and I was able to stop freelancing and pay my rent making sculptures. Gradually, a new system of values developed. Seduced by the polished quality of objects made by top-tier artists, I sought to emulate that at a scale I could aspire to. As acquisitions of my work became more consistent, I began to explore sophisticated and costly metal fabrication and coating processes.

The temptation to produce fetishized sculptures similar to those sanctified like idols in New York museums led my production ambitions to exceed my natural progression as an artist. Inspired to create at a caliber beyond my technical expertise, I went into debt financing a practice I could not sustain. I now had to seek employment fabricating and installing for a scenic shop in Greenpoint, purely to substantiate my own work’s heavy reliance on outsourcing. Fortunately, I loved clocking in and out of a job where skill, craft and work ethic superceded context, social politics and market swings. I was, however, robbing Peter to pay Paul.

After working these jobs for the past year, removed from the studio, I am abandoning fabrication and starting from scratch - with plaster - to share my thoughts about impermanence.