I'm always looking for artwork to go with my writing. I look for some image that expresses what I'm thinking, feeling, or experiencing. I am sorry to say I did not take note of the artist's name when I chose a piece for my 2/14/2018 post (and this one - see lake pic near bottom). I say this because the painting haunts me. It feels like whoever that is must be some sort of kindred spirit.
In fact, I'm going to leave off writing this for a moment and see if I can figure out who this is. I wonder if s/he is going through some of the same issues with health (or the same reckoning with mortality) that I am?
Didn't take more than ten minutes -- here she is: kathrynbeals.com/
She is Canadian. I'm northern MN (at heart) so I guess there's a feel and style to the area that is close. She has three small children. I have two medium-large sized children. She was actually on the lake rowing at night, and just the thought of that makes my heart flutter. I have dreams, sometimes, about swimming way out on Deer Lake in the middle of the night.
So, I figure she's not necessarily going through a similar spiritual challenge, but rather I recognize in her the commonality of being awed by nature. Who knows. Anyway, the painting is on my mind, and I want to dream about it. I don't want to have those same sad dreams about the lake (aka my lost childhood) (aka the tragedy of Alderaan). I want to dream about a lake that leads to some spooky, otherworldly realm.
I just can't stand Facebook. There are so many ignorant know-it-alls (who I happen to know suffer from enormous self-loathing) who put up "lies, damned lies, and statistics" that none of us need to hear. I put up uncontroversial moments, but it's all just like being at work -- living above it all -- pretending out of necessity that everything is "okay." And I feel like Macon from The Accidental Tourist though I've no right to feel as he does. I've no right because I have something that Macon does not have which is my children. And my children have turned out to be my greatest friends ever, because though I do have to nag them and boss them around (that's my job at times), they fundamentally understand me and I understand them on a level that is pure and without any ulterior motive whatsoever They are the reason why the disappearing author will not willingly disappear as of yet. I'm going to put up something real and deep about my child who has been taking care of me in a sort of reverse-maternal instinct that I feel guilty about, yet need and appreciate.
"Now I'm far from everyone. I don't have any friends anymore. And everyone looks trivial and foolish, and not related to me." -- Macon Leary
I think I'm going to dump almost everyone from Facebook that I don't actually care about. No, I changed my mind. -- JT Cole
Here it is again:
In fact, I'm going to leave off writing this for a moment and see if I can figure out who this is. I wonder if s/he is going through some of the same issues with health (or the same reckoning with mortality) that I am?
Didn't take more than ten minutes -- here she is: kathrynbeals.com/
She is Canadian. I'm northern MN (at heart) so I guess there's a feel and style to the area that is close. She has three small children. I have two medium-large sized children. She was actually on the lake rowing at night, and just the thought of that makes my heart flutter. I have dreams, sometimes, about swimming way out on Deer Lake in the middle of the night.
So, I figure she's not necessarily going through a similar spiritual challenge, but rather I recognize in her the commonality of being awed by nature. Who knows. Anyway, the painting is on my mind, and I want to dream about it. I don't want to have those same sad dreams about the lake (aka my lost childhood) (aka the tragedy of Alderaan). I want to dream about a lake that leads to some spooky, otherworldly realm.
I just can't stand Facebook. There are so many ignorant know-it-alls (who I happen to know suffer from enormous self-loathing) who put up "lies, damned lies, and statistics" that none of us need to hear. I put up uncontroversial moments, but it's all just like being at work -- living above it all -- pretending out of necessity that everything is "okay." And I feel like Macon from The Accidental Tourist though I've no right to feel as he does. I've no right because I have something that Macon does not have which is my children. And my children have turned out to be my greatest friends ever, because though I do have to nag them and boss them around (that's my job at times), they fundamentally understand me and I understand them on a level that is pure and without any ulterior motive whatsoever They are the reason why the disappearing author will not willingly disappear as of yet. I'm going to put up something real and deep about my child who has been taking care of me in a sort of reverse-maternal instinct that I feel guilty about, yet need and appreciate.
"Now I'm far from everyone. I don't have any friends anymore. And everyone looks trivial and foolish, and not related to me." -- Macon Leary
I think I'm going to dump almost everyone from Facebook that I don't actually care about. No, I changed my mind. -- JT Cole
Here it is again:
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