It Doesn't Have To Be About The Notes Or The Words
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This is another one of those paintings that doesn't need a story. It's OK for these to stand on their own once in a while isn't it? Yeah, I think so too. So, let me ask you, Oh where has your little dog gone? ... Enjoy!
So, lets see... this page is 121 years old, I am 37 years old, the wine I am drinking is only 4 years old, this painting is about 2 hours old, this story is minutes old and this moment is right now. I suppose all time and history always come together at this point of now. By the time you read this, now will gone and I was going to say something like, "it's funny how things work" but that really isnt appropriate. It is just the way things work. Portrait of the Devil, 121 years and it's here now. With that... Enjoy!
It's late and
the desklamp is lighting up
this corner of the hotel room and
I can only see the cars that are heading East
on the Detroit highway
that is visible
from my window.
It is obvious that the black is
still wet and behind me one
of the girls shifts in the bed and
I know that their dreaming is more
important that the sound of these keys
so
that is where it will end.
Somewhere between two girls and a
highway and the late night sound of
this keyboard.
... Enjoy!
The Words Are Yours And The Portrait Is For All
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Usually there is a story to give to my portraits context. However, with this one I think the portrait comes with it's own context and leaves enough to our own imagination and all the rest can be filled in by each of you. With that... Enjoy!
That Is Where It Will End
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It's late and
the desklamp is lighting up
this corner of the hotel room and
I can only see the cars that are heading East
on the Detroit highway
that is visible
from my window.
It is obvious that the black is
still wet and behind me one
of the girls shifts in the bed and
I know that their dreaming is more
important that the sound of these keys
so
that is where it will end.
Somewhere between two girls and a
highway and the late night sound of
this keyboard.
5 More Reminders That Creativity Is Not Linked To The Economy #2
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I almost feel that it isn't necessary to write a story for this one. I have this feeling that all of us, to different degree, all have our own ideas about money and the current state of it and heck you can't turn on the radio without hearing how people are or are not spending it or saving it or earning it or losing it and I swear that sometimes it appears that for most people, most of the time, it all boils down to it, eventually. I am not naive enough to say that it does not matter and I assure you this is not a commentary on what should or shouldn't be done with it but maybe it is simply a proposal to think about it and how it connects who you are and what you have. So, with that, here are 5 more reminders that creativity is not linked to the economy...Enjoy!
Will Take This Day
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It is 3:00 PM in the afternoon and this painting is leaning up against the wall just to the right of the computer monitor and as I look at it, I am having trouble figuring out where to begin. I never write in the afternoon and I swear the words come out best when the rest of the world is asleep. While I feel the keys under my fingertips I imagine everyone driving in cars, at the movies, buying pants, getting coffee in large paper cups, standing in lines at stores with carts full of packaged tomorrow, in restaurants, at stoplights, in airports, on buses and on and on and on and all the while I sit here in this quiet house with the shades pulled open and the cool winter sunlight shines on my back and I try to remember what it is that I wanted to say about this painting but it doesn't seem to really matter now. The only thing that really matters is that it is 3:06 and I have these words and this painting and for right now all the other stuff has nothing to do with it....Enjoy!
I Can No Longer Count On One Hand
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It is warm and a breeze is coming through the window and I am listening to The Basketball Diaries and it is Father's Day and I can no longer count on one hand how long it has been since I have spoken with him.
When I was young I kept striking out in baseball so he drilled a hole through a baseball and then ran a rope through the hole and tied a knot to keep the ball from falling off. He would swing the rope around and around and I would stand just outside of the arc with my bat and take swings at the ball as it passed by. Later that year I hit a home run and the ball landed on the hood of a car on the other side of the fence.
Out the window I can hear my neighbors air conditioner running non-stop even though they are gone for the week and someone else mows their yard on a diagonal to make it look nice and and it is Father's Day and I can no longer count on one hand how long it has been since I have spoken with him.
...Enjoy!
I have settled into this wonderful chair for the evening and I am hoping that the words that fall off my fingertips are better that the thoughts that are swirling around up top. The last six (or more) weeks have not been right. Where there was motivation, there is now apathy and where there is apathy there is not much else.
I am drawing the line here. I am drawing the line now.
Did I tell you that she bought me this chair? She has connections and knows people and snuck it into the house when I was away and everyone should be so lucky to write from chairs like this and without her I know I would have given up on all this long ago and it isn't just the chair but it is everything else over the years that kept the words and paints moving and it is because of her that I am drawing the line here and now and tomorrow when I awake she will be there and the apathy will be gone.
... Enjoy!
I am writing from a couch in a little sitting area on the third floor of a hotel in Port Angeles, Washington. There is a tall, hot coffee to my left and the ocean to my right, so I guess that means that I am facing West. The girls are back in room 301, no doubt sprawled out on the big queen beds and talking like they do and laughing like they do and it feels good to be so far from home with no reason to be anywhere but here.
Yesterday morning as we packed up the car behind the Inn where we stayed, we struck up a conversation with the non-English speaking dishwasher who was taking out the garbage. Through hand gestures and limited Spanish/English we were able to determine that 3 miles up the road is a place that we should visit. We all smiled a lot and shook hands before we left. "Gracias," I said. "Thank you," he replied.
I would like to keep this up forever. My home is where the two girls are and they are here with me and all the other stuff back in Michigan can stay there I suppose. Tomorrow is new and so was today and no matter where I am, I just need to remember that every day from here on out is really no different.
... Enjoy!
