there are reasons for my silence. or excuses. whatever you want to call them, i have them. they’re locked in a box i keep on a shelf amongst papers and pens and brushes and things, a box meant for Only Sometimes but turns out to be a box of Everyday.
there is the usual crunch of work, which i like most days, find challenging on others, and on some…well. let’s just say humanity’s purpose is questioned and the blades get a fine sharpening.
then there is the drawing. and the painting. the Power Pair. they surround, subdue, and conquer. i am not easy prey. but they do all that to me, without so much as a roar but a sinuous whisper just above a breath. they lure and i follow, not fully witless, not fully inculpable. i know the shit i get into.
and then there’s all the rest: the fear, an uncertain future, coughs and hospitals, morphine and treacherous cells. it turns me slowly, the creeping hand a thousand steps closer than i would ever wish on my best enemy. the days go on and on, a stretch of waiting with no known end, hoping that the end doesn’t exact a price none of us want to pay.
so words fail, and the pen and brush take up the burden of silence, fill the chasm with things inconsequential and things only slightly less so. small things become important, beads of water on chapped lips, a kiss on the cheek. and still, the words fail.
6 Comments
Words are both the mortar and the whipping, destructive winds of life. It’s a precarious balance between them as we build and tear away in turn. I think your art has words beyond measure in it but they are formed by the viewer’s own well of imagination. I do like when you place brick after brick of your own defined thought in a strata for us to read.
Yeah, I like it when you blab. :D
i do like layers. and i’m glad you like it when i blab.
I don’t comment here enough, but your words are always beautiful. xxx
thank you. i’m happy you read my posts, however sparse they are over time.
I’m sorry I am late to comment. I always enjoy your writing :) I always fail with words. I definitely never know what is the right thing to say. I think that is why I often retreat into visual work also. I know I don’t have to really say what it is about if I don’t want to. It’s escape and catharsis.
i don’t know, i think you’re precise in your terms: escape and catharsis. those are the best words for what i was trying to convey.