Wednesday, October 14, 2009


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.

1 comment:


This one is genuinely creepy.