ground to a halt

In bed I struggle to focus. I bulge my eyes out and keep beneath the surface, waiting for it to get colder, for the air to thin out to preempt imploding. I'm caught between a rock and hard place, surrounded by people who are supposed to care but find it too much of an inconvenience. She sleeps a lot, but really doesn’t.

The coffee and tea. The bodies and excuses. The sycophancy shared with so many, perhaps none more so than myself. The enormous collection of imagery and music brought together at the not-so-natural gallery of the Babylon Night Club yesterday night.

I have always found this universe outside my own largely disturbing and grotesquely misinformed in some form or other. I had a hard time justifying how any of my paintings, no matter their current meaning, what their incarnation should be to others. In most cases, the work was left to be interpreted by everyone from the art connoisseurs, the regular club goers, to the habitual gossipers. I gather that the images in that case became something other to my understanding.

It's sometimes hard to escape those thoughts. The course of today ground to a halt, a conscious effort made to relax yet to have been found. A mind today, tired as may be, kempt in tracking those reactions. What amazed me over the night were the few people, those who on occasion took it upon themselves to acknowledge my artwork. The friends, the family, and the new faces. Some were interested in my methods of application or the materials I had used for my kind of spontaneous aesthetics. For the most part, adhesive glue helped put-together most of these three-dimensional paintings. It doesn't get any easier than that. I must admit.

To those who approached my art and I without any intimidation or fear of hurting any foolish optimism, or rather just hope...

I Thank You.