A Portrait in Time

From my astrologers point of view. Mars in my 12th house ( along with Sun, Jupiter, Mars, Mercury ) means all my expression and anger is internalized - hence my love of writing& passionate angry men... and thus The Painter was the expression of much of my internalized forces. .... if you get that kinda thing. I really do. Especially after 12 years of a little Biosphere of my own - of two cosmic forces.. obviously not quite coming together. OR taking 12 years and considering the option... or in his mind.. at this time .. which may not be his mind.. 12 years pretending. Taking our combined charts, it was all forecast. Trouble brewing, powerful planets challenging the status quo. Things that could have stayed subtle and hidden become the catalists for deconstruction. Naturally I grasping on this as reasonable explaination for a change I didnt see comming. Powerless to it all, I watch my beautiful sandcastle wash away. Twelve years of heart matched alli

To be or not to be, what can be fully understood, life is much more complicate. To complicated, the example of oil on canvas can never portray. Oil on canvas is the offering of the static and beautiful the overlooked or unappreciated simplicity of composition and environment. I talk of course from the view of a painters wife. Someone who deals with the day to day issues of life, and the structure and support of a family and business. So life is more complexed for me. Caos is some fluid productive state. So to see the painter return from his day on the hillside all contemplative, without time for dishes or the chop wood carry water necessities of life I can be frustrated and his ungrounded reality. But then I touchdown on his world in the form of solid encapsulations of his meditation in oil. Far reaching from my point of hormonal surfing, but I welcome every glimpse, every smudge of paint. So blooming meaningful sometimes it takes me weeks or months to truly understa

  Here in the wild west we can see trouble approaching. We think because we can see for hundreds of miles that we have it all worked out.   If you cant see the change coming those with barometric sensititives can feel it coming.    Hang around long enough in a small town and all the skills of the tribe become apparent, and sensitivites are often the skill. It takes a village, because a village has a spectrum of influence to offer. In every storm there are those that ride the rapids, and those that seek shelter. I have always been one to provoke the thunder. I watch those clouds loom over our heads with no plans to quench our needs, and taunt them to surrender their burden. Innocent enough until you have been lashed by the strike of fate. So now I wait for the storm clearers, the ones who see where the ruts and grooves funneled the challenge. Their assessment can take days or weeks, but soon enought the true impact will be understood. y

The first time he left me was our first Valentines day. I had been taking metal working classes and had made a couple of easels. I didnt have great expectations. But too great for the painter man. It was not the first time I had my doubts, that was a week after our marriage, when I would have walked out on any sain man. But I had never been married before. So obligations are different, and maybe, maybe he would change, this was not the real him. The second time he left me was about 9 months later. We had opened our first gallery in Jerome. I cant remember what the trigger was. But madness took over as usual and swift response. The truck, old faithful, loaded to the gills and he took off. I picked up where he left off and threw out all the excess. Not knowing that he would be back before morn. The third time. Well that I barely remember for that was over a decade ago. On reflection it all seems so irrelevent looking back. But then I do not have the tr