Wednesday, October 28, 2009

The beautiful end

Folks, it's over, there's no more, this is the end. This blog has reached it's final post. What happens is, I have to paint, is what happens. So I really can't spend my time posting thoughtful thoughts and fun stories on line because I'm not painting instead what I should be painting instead. And don't try to convince me otherwise because the truth is that I don't have anything else to say. At least at this point, for the time being, as things stand and things being what they are. I've had my say, and I'm going to paint.

That said, this end is not actually final. I may write more, from time to time if, for some reason, at some point, I find within me something that I absolutely must express. But believe me when I say that I have for some time now stopped asking myself what do I also want to say. The chances are not fat. It's been a lot of fun, and I wish to thank all of ya'll who followed this and commented and such. Farewell.

Size: 2.75" x 3.5"
Year: 2007
Media: Watercolor
Price: Part of a larger piece. Not sold separately.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Lunar territory

Years ago, the idea of becoming enlightened was very interesting to me. Particularly the part of being one with everything, seeing no separation between myself and the tree, between I and the sky. It goes without saying that I would not be there, not me —the person I'm used to feeling in my head. I imagined I would be composed of thousands of invisible tendrils of light emanating from where I used to exist as an entity aware of myself, and connecting that to everything around, above, and below. And that point in space would posses infinite compassion. And it would know everything because it wouldn't need to know. But then, why would I want that if I could not be there? I could not be that thing myself: I would be gone. It is impossible for me to become enlightened without disappearing, without death.

I also considered a world where all human beings had attained Nirvana. No more wars, no more hunger, or murder, or thievery, or lies. In fact, not even quarreling between spouses. Not even stepping on ants, if avoidable. Everybody would probably work for non-for-profits. You tell me, could any great deeds be done in such a world? Would any great literature arise?

Size: 2.75" x 3.5"
Year: 2006
Media: Watercolor
Price: Part of a larger piece. Not sold separately.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Custodians

In the airplane back to New York from San Francisco my little son sleeps on the seat in the middle while I look out the window to my right. His head is on a pillow next to my wife and his feet are resting on my legs. I see the vast American night outside and the caramel lights of towns and roads an incredible distance below. My son is not comfortable and he's moving a lot in his sleep trying to find a good position. Sometimes he kicks me on my side under the ribs where it's soft, right where you think a knife would find its way to three or four vital organs. But he's a toddler, he's my son, and after all I wanted him and that's why he's existing and trying to sleep. I mean, he's an innocent creature. And besides, he doesn't kick hard at all. But this makes me consider why I am not nearly as forgiving when I find my wife's elbow poking my ribs in bed. I mean, after all, she's sleeping too, or trying to sleep. And I have her too because I wanted her. And I love her another amazing amount.

The moon is thin tonight, the clouds are black. The wing bounces a little in the choppy air and I tell myself it was designed on purpose to be slightly bendable, and it would break if it were rigid and this thing would fall out of the sky. I can read small labels painted on the turbine that say things like ANTI-FREEZE ACCESS, in all caps. And if the plane fell tonight I would go out with my wife and my son, so from a selfish perspective, at least they wouldn't die separately in a car accident or something leaving me to survive the devastation of their absence forever. And in the overhead compartment goes my current sketchbook, in the suitcase. It's the best work I've ever done, a nice collection of very good ideas for paintings that I hope to create in the future. But that would also die with us and no one would ever know I had attained a rather decent level of mastery at my craft. This would make sense, tragedies often manage to come as large as they can. But then descent begins, continues, and we land. It's a rather rough landing, in my experience, but we land. Then the airplane stops and the captain tells us we had lost our left engine.

Size: 2.75" x 3.5"
Year: 2007
Media: Watercolor
Price: Part of a larger piece. Not sold separately.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

El último día

These dragonflies live only for a season, but every new season, they exist again. I've looked at them for years and they're always the same, exact copies of one another, precisely like their parents in every detail. It could be said that, from a dragonfly perspective, they see each other as individuals, but as for my point of view, they're interchangeable. From their perspective, they live complete lives: they start as eggs, then they swim in the pond as larvae, and finally they dart about as flying adults. But to me they simply reappear, they reincarnate when the whether turns warm.

Now you take me, for instance, 137 years old and barely able to walk. It's fair to say, I've lived. It's fair to say, I've danced all I had to dance. I've had my fun. You would think I'm ready to let go of life and put this ugly body on the ground to rot. You would think I had time enough to do whatever I set up to do when I realized that something has to be done with a lifetime. But I'm not ready, no sir, I still have many things to do. I've wanted to accomplish something distinct and extraordinary, but in all these years, I have not yet managed to do so. And even at my advanced age, I do not now how near or how far I am from attaining my remarkable thing. Now I won't live much longer and, likely, I'll die frustrated. I've lived my season, sir, and I will not come back.

Size: 2.75" x 3.5"
Year: 2006
Media: Watercolor
Price: Part of a larger piece. Not sold separately.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Move


Size: 8 1/4" x 5 1/4"
Year: 1997 (Revised in 2003)
Media: pencil, color pencil, and watercolor (on paper glued onto wood)
Price: $149.99

Monday, September 28, 2009

Days


Size: 8 1/4" x 5 1/4"
Year: 1997 (Revised in 2003)
Media: pencil, color pencil, and watercolor (on paper glued onto wood)
Price: $149.99

Friday, September 25, 2009

A dream


Size: 8 1/4" x 5 1/4"
Year: 1997 (Revised in 2003)
Media: pencil, color pencil, and watercolor (on paper glued onto wood)
Price: $149.99

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

That smell


Size: 8 1/4" x 5 1/4"
Year: 1997 (Revised in 2003)
Media: pencil and watercolor (on paper glued onto wood)
Price: $149.99