A Portrait in Time

I have been approached by a couple of friends who want to sell their paintings. Close friend, can no longer loose themselves in the landscapes. The power of a painting is to hold your imagination. A story in a capsule of oil & canvas. The painting should be an escape. A doorway into a field of a world remove from the unpainted reality. When looking at the painting one shouldn't consider the artist, just an appreciation for the pallet and conjouring. Not what he did before of after he picked up his paintbrush. Now my friends have a hard time with the constant visual with a lingering lurking thought. I have tried to be discrete, a necessity in a small town, also too with collectors who so often become friends. When I have encountered anyone I masterfully cap the subject with a brief positive statement. There is no reason to repeat the cycle of dissolving. But the unfolding of our relationship altered a lot. Anyone who knew us over the years, would know of the shi...

I should feel something quite considerable. But I am cautious & all felt out. At first all I was wanting to achieve was my divorce. I didn't imagine the year journey of dissolving our relationship would fracture off & splinter so much of what we thought was certain. The two of us should have escaped all this drama, all these casualties all this loss. This town & its people have been excused the staggering drama . Hero's in love, now all that remains of the epic alliance dismantled & linger like scaffolds of previous grand existences. Its as if a storm has moved through my existence & left a hollow shell. I walk around the empty room inside. Taking in the contents. He has left for the last time. The papers have been signed. Whats left is the karmic clause & consequences. Thus we are spun out . Both of us unable in some sense. Both of us un cabled to our stream to the dream that we dreamed. Both un tethered from the structure of what we ...

I am surrounded by fair weather friends. The slightest storm in a teacup and they flee like fleas on a wetback. Fleaing from adversity as if there were'nt an empathetic bone in their flexible body. 12 years of cocktail raising stands for nothing.