the spirit beneath the flesh

rough rough week.

the world seems a little less real every day.

i had a near-death experience years ago. i've never gotten over it. i really really didn't want to come back--i felt at home for the first time in my life. never before or since.

i really feel i was never meant for this world.

two paintings today:

self-portrait (a much younger self, admittedly)

and my beautiful son (also much younger)

wish i had a decent camera again. hard to believe i was ever a photographer (i always leave this out of my resume; it seems like just too much to add, after the rest of it; no one can ever believe i've done so many different things...) my daughter's a brilliant professional photographer now, thanks to her father.

it's the middle of the night.

maybe next time, a poem...

this world then the fireworks

it's a hard knock life, isn't it?

that's probably why i paint when i can. it's the only time my mind completely sets me free--no thoughts, just the tactile pleasure of the paint or pastel tracking across the page or canvas or panel.

i can listen to music and paint. when i write music is an annoying distraction, but when i paint it becomes the rhythm of the line.

i love it...