I did not know that one person could grieve a house but apparently I am. I am not speaking mortar and wood and glass but more the feelings and memories that are lingering. this week and last I saw first hand how money makes some people seem as they have been possessed by evil.
I seem to be raw for all of these things hit me hard. I loose control over myself. I sob while driving. I sit by the water to find comfort but even it does not help. Often my head hurts and my teeth ache from nights of clinching my jaw, unbeknownst to me.
yesterday while waiting the the light to change at an intersection the smell of fat from kfc engulfed the van and took my mind back in time. I could see myself with B in the wheelchair waiting for the light to change and thinking how I was going to get him across two streets before the light went red. I remember what I was thinking and feeling as if I were living it for the first time.
When those times come over us there is no stopping them. They have a force that cannot be moved. I understand the feelings of desperation that leads people to building shrines of their loved ones. We don’t mean to create them into deities. For myself I remember a life so full of creating. To live with a true artist takes a certain kind of person. Watching the Pollack movie again with Ed Harris I understood. I felt the frustrations of Lee his wife and though B was not a drunk and filled with problems it was the creating that draws us to them like flies to light bulbs. It truly is as fascinating as watching a child being born.
Hearing Harris’s description of Pollacks desperation in getting out of him the creation of painting. I have been feeling as he described. Trying and ripping your chest open so it can all come out or be released! I have made attempts but as I look at the paintings now I can see that I have modified them. I have toned down the force and agony that I feel so the works might be better sellable. One has come close and I will post it today. Well I better try and get some work done.
Writing does help.
Painting does help.
Sculpting sure helps
I hope sharing helps you.
saffron hangs with folds of gold
the morning sun draws white lines on each fold
I fear my sunflowers will show their faces while I am gone
droplets of moister hangs onto the tip of the heavy leaves transparent and delicate yet I can sense its weight
for a moment the air that surrounds me
fills with a fragrance
of a flower bidding good morning to the sun
my eyes, drawn to only one
amongst a wave of deep purple
only one looks back at me
fluttering in the still air
then it comes
sensing the opportunity
that moment when the world knows you are distracted
when it knows you feel at ease and secure
then it comes
like a hawk flying over his terrain
waiting for that moment
the moment when it is least suspected
when you have mindlessly left the door to your heart open
when you have let your guard down
it walks in and fucks with you
smiles, camouflage the dagger
I repeat myself
I repeat my self
I repeat myself
out of disappointment in myself
anger points only to me, for only I am to blame
weeks have passed where I have felt secure
feeling that I may be able to live
some kind of life
the universe knows when there is a soft spot
evil and good fly side by side
there is no real dissimilarity
what road must I walk next
must my entire life be the endless turning of pages
from a large book of lessons
perhaps, my moments of feeling secure
my naked feet on the warm earth
is the wrong path
perhaps I am not to get comfortable
I am not to be here
could that be the next lesson
I am so conditioned to please
so conditioned it that I feel I need to throw up
why is an open, extended hand perceived as weakness
perhaps it’s the old saying
survival of the fittest
there are no solutions
no crystal ball
just grin and bear it till the end
my saffron hangs on the line
all tangled unable to move back or forth
the symbolism is uncanny
This gallery contains 1 photo.