“I thought of that phrase from Freud: we prepare ourselves for our greatest fears in order to weaken them.”

—Félix González-Torres

Queer artist Félix González-Torres died at 38 of AIDS. He was born in Cuba. As a child, he loved cats and watercolor paints. He moved to NYC on an art’s scholarship in the late 1970’s. A few years later, while hanging out at Boy Bar in East Village, he met Ross Laycock.

It’s so simple, isn’t it? A name, an arrow in that flurry of hastening pulses, an opening-into, an other. Love begins world-making and changes what is given. In this new world, love destroys time and alters duration. They had a handful of years together before time was altered again.

In 1988, Ross was diagnosed with HIV. The cruelty of the AIDS crisis rattled queer communities. And Félix did what art does, namely, modified the world love created in order to assure its continuance. He wrote a letter to Ross that that included a rough sketch of a piece — tentatively titled Lovers — that consisted of two clocks touching each other that start in synchronization. This allusion to their heartbeats juxtaposed helplessness (the mechanized tick tick tick of a clock sounds very similar to a bomb) and tenderness (the clocks touched each other with their machine skins).

When Felix developed the idea for Untitled (Perfect Lovers), the two lovers’ hearts were still beating. Slowly, the clocks would fall out of time, caused by both the running out of batteries and the very nature of the mechanics.

When the clocks were installed, they were to touch. The two black-rimmed clocks could be, however, replaced with white store-bought clocks with the same dimensions and design. The two hands, minute and second, were to be set in sync with the awareness that the two hands might eventually go out of sync during display. If one of the clocks required battery replacement, it was to be done, after which the clocks were to be reset at the same time. The clocks were to be exhibited against a wall painted in light blue.

Gonzalez-Torres admitted that the clocks would ultimately fall out of synch, and one sooner or later stopping first:

Time is something that scares me … or used to. This piece made with the two clocks was the scariest thing I have ever done. I wanted to face it. I wanted those two clocks right in front of me, ticking.

Each time the batteries died, they were to be replaced and the clocks could be started again—- the clocks could be reset at the same time.

(This is the part where I try not to cry. This is the unbelievable tenderness in touching, losing, being, continuing. This is the nature of elegies.)

Monsters tick in my mind; the sound of stopwatches or count-downs have always been wired to bombs and death for me. I hear a countdown and see an ending. González-Torres’ clocks know this tick—-they do not avoid time. One might even conjecture that Untitled (Perfect Lovers) destroys time.

Five years before this, González-Torres lost his partner, Ross Laycock, the man he called his “one great love,” to AIDS.

“Who is your public?”

As the scandal over NEA funding for Mapplethorpe galvanized anti-queer 'culture warriors, Félix tried to find ways around the censorious political climate. One of these ways involved resisting the label of “gay art.” In his own words:

Two clocks side by side are much more threatening to the powers that be than an image of two guys sucking each other’s dicks because they cannot use me as a rallying point in their battle to erase meaning. It is going to be very difficult for members of Congress to tell their constituents that money is being expended for the promotion of homosexual art when all they have to show are two plugs side by side or two mirrors side by side.

Once, We, Were—

Once we were driven by “homesickness for the past,” Mark Fisher said in 2006, “now, it is the impossibility of the present.”

I go back to the instructions González-Torres gave for how the two clocks should be displayed—- the two clocks were to touch and could be replaced with white plastic commercial clocks of similar dimensions and design. The guidelines continue, the minute and second hands were to be set in sync, with the understanding that eventually they might go out of sync during the exhibition. If one of the clocks needed the batteries replaced, it was to be done, and the clocks were to be reset accordingly; the clocks were to be displayed on a wall painted light blue.

The guidelines consist of an ambiguous statement: with the understanding that eventually they might go out of sync, if you consider the implication of the phrase perfect lovers, generally or as per those words, perfect love should ideally forever stay synchronized.

“When You See This Remember Me” / Robert Storr

“Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ Clocks / Perfect Lovers – What does it mean?” / Martin Schulze

“Félix González-Torres, Vita brevis, ars longa” / Bailey Richardson