A NICELY CREAMED ENAMEL
I've tried walking; standing in place; waiting
around - each of those things had their appealing
moments. But the tactics didn't work. The wall behind
me now is a beautiful shade of ivory-tusk white. I painted
it myself to hold a few clean paintings - things always look
better when they're hung pristine. Like a grand museum in
some duchy far-off. I can revel in my fake riches.
-
It's really remarkable when you do all this yourself - no
doughty-headed curators looking over your shoulder,
pointing to this or that, saying Poussin, Delacroix, Picasso.
As if I were to care of their art-industry opinions towards
my expectations of this now-new moment. Nothing is
pre-existent. We make it all as we roll merrily along.
-
That's why I get to laugh. That's why I get to love.
My wondrous moments all have authors of their own :
sunny sky and deep delight, grand torrents of lust in
the rain, sorrow in the snow; the sad mounting of
losses like inches of that snow on the ground.
-
I'd invite you in, but I haven't got a door.
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