What goes up does not always come down. Especially if it’s Ginny Ruffner. If you think that maxim sounds slightly off, like it’s been reversed, reimagined, and turned upside down, you would be correct. But that’s what Ginny Ruffner did to whatever so-called obstacles she encountered. She was naturally buoyant. She modified, reimagined, and transformed everything to suit her purpose.  Like death, for instance.

The first time death came for her, in the form of an oncoming car, she turned it upside down, shook it until its pockets rained stars, and walked—admittedly, with a cane and a limp — away from a two-month coma, alive and well, and better than ever. That was in December of 1991. Against all odds, she stayed alive and thrived for another incredibly productive 34 years until she passed away a few weeks ago, quietly, quickly, gracefully, and on her own terms, in the home and studio that was one of her most astonishing works of art.

You would struggle to find evidence of that epic struggle with death in her work. It might be lurking in the twisted and tortured metal forms of her large glass and stainless-steel sculptures that are both beautiful and menacing. But her optimism is always there too, although it’s not the least bit sentimental or cloying. Optimism was simply her assumption about the nature of the world as she saw it. She insisted that beauty was always there, waiting for those who had the wit and courage to lure it out and wrestle with it. And of course she’s right about that. What kind of fool would question the assumptions of someone who has bested death?

Plenty of things made her angry — complacency, mediocrity, banality — but nothing seemed to frighten Ginny. She worried about mundane things like getting to the airport on time, but never about the big terrifying things like what her next act would be. She had second, third, fourth, and many more acts, constantly surprising everyone by taking up a new medium once she had conquered the previous one, moving from painting to glass, mixed-media sculpture, collage, pixels, and augmented reality. As far as anyone who knew her knew, she worked most of the day, every day, never stopping, and always thinking about her next move.

She once told me she didn’t understand writer’s block. How could you not know what to do next, she wondered. How could your art paralyze you? A couple of months later, when she was hopelessly stuck in the middle of an essay she  was writing for a catalogue of one of her shows, she called me and said, “Okay, I get it.”

I laughed, delighted and vindicated. The mighty Ginny had struck out. My malicious glee was short-lived. She called again the next day and said, “I’ve figured it out. I’m going to write a crappy first draft and you’re going to edit it.”

“Okay, Gin. You win again.”

Ginny was interested in a wide swath of subjects that included mathematics, philosophy, botany, genetics, normal science, weird science, space exploration, and world-building. She worked with an impressive array of eminent thinkers and inventors who became friends and enthusiastic collaborators in her quest to unleash beauty on an unsuspecting world. Her work was and is important. Although she’s gone, it is still here in museums, public spaces, and prestigious private collections. But she left behind many friends, followers, and fans here in Seattle, and all over the world, who have been gathering informally for the past weeks to remember and celebrate her as a person as well as a public figure. Her passing left a deep hole in the lives of everyone who was close to her and anyone who loved her art.

So, the story of death and Ginny Ruffner has ended in a tie. She would have laughed at that idea. She laughed at everything. She found it especially funny whenever anyone described her as a glass artist, because it made her sound like she was made of glass. But Ginny wasn’t made of glass. She was made of steel.

To find out more about Ginny, her work and her life, watch the excellent feature-length documentary about her, A Not So Still Life. It was directed by filmmaker Karen Stanton and produced by David Skinner and his company, ShadowCatcher Entertainment, who have generously made the film available for streaming online at https://player.vimeo.com/video/1002140337?h=0d9b3177db. For a comprehensive look at her work, visit www.ginnyruffner.com which was created in collaboration with her friend and colleague, Michael Hilliard.

Kathleen Cain

Kathleen Cain was a journalist and a creative director at the legendary Heckler Associates for many years before starting her own communications consulting firm. Find her writings at www.postalley.org.