“…Baby I am so faraway from home, I miss my baby so, I can’t make it by myself, I love you, so…”
Tom Waits
I am going home,
I understand monastic life a little better. "Marry the church" and keep your eye single to the glory of it, and only it.
In the last six months I have given myself to art; I have been its bride, pondered it, lived it, lived in it, slept with it, and the ideas just keep coming. Whenever I take stock the number of concepts continue to multiply.
Maybe it is best I go home, slow my brain back down, have my production catch up with the development of ideas. And I was concerned that left on my own I would find myself bereft of imagery in the midst of a great desert of nothingness, thirsty, grasping for an image to cling onto. Rather I have been awash in them.
The challenge will be to presume my life and still find the capacity to make pictures. To find the visual vocabulary to communicate my imaginative language . But how I manage this seems an open question. My fear, is the wisdom of Frying Pan Jack will be all too correct when he says:
“…I learned when I was young that the only true life was the life of my brain. So what sense does it make for me to hand that brain over to someone else for eight hours a day for their particular use on the presumption that at the end of the day I would get it back in an un-mutilated condition.”
Quoted by Utah Phillips:
image List:
Top: ""Linda on Trampoline" etching
"NJ in NY" etching
"James Bay Lodge Man" oil on Linen
"Mountain study #2" etching (and last piece completed in Berlin)
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