©I’m Painting Again
from Letters I Never Sent to You series
All Rights Reserved
I shouldn’t tell you this, babe, but she started eating herself again.
I think I’ll have to let her die.
Someone told me a lusty story; I thought of you and the way
you stretch time into a thin line between super unrealities.
I’m still telling those stories of you and me… they change
as I change my mind, but isn’t that part of the art of storytelling?
I’m still working on a method to conflate the tales of you and me yet
keep the personal considerations obscurant and not lose reader interest.
Remember that time we had to tunnel through successive ruinations of
our nightly plans. I wanted to cry. How do I diminish the distance
between us now?
I’m painting with a sense of calm these days, without the bloodletting,
and with that stability of painting people whom I’m showing as
morally sound, people with multifaceted lives. Their stories have
solvable problems to tell.
My paintings always develop from different stages. I guess you can
see from what I’ve already said that my composition was planned,
but I’m not sketching it in Cerulean blue using my long bristle flat bush
The thought that pops in my mind makes me blush…
you know I like it long.
Cerulean is my favorite when I’m doing plein air paintings because
it blends with all the other colors perfectly. Except when I’m in the
desert. Then I use red for an underpainting. Next, I add values: light,
medium, and dark. You are a true value to me.
Did I make you blush?
I’m still afraid of that word. Yes, that one: goodbye. So, I won’t say it.
It may be an alteration of G-d be with ye, but it’s also a conclusion.
I don’t want us to conclude, so I’ll end with All My Love.