My friend Nick is a painter who paints on black canvases instead of white. He does this because when he dreams, the background of his dreams is black.
Sometimes I get so bewildered that the world is like neither art nor dreams. In fact, the theme of my life this year seems to be reckoning with the question of whether that's so necessary. What would my life look like if I lived it the way I imagine I might? Quite possibly I'd be homeless and stinky in New York, giggling on the sidewalk at green balloons and passersby with inexplicable pillows. Or else homeless and stinky in a VW bus on the side of a desert road under the stars, writing songs on an acoustic guitar, a fisher price xylophone, a vitamin water bottle.
Would I be happier? Would I be so scared to lose it all? Would I be free?
0 comments:
Post a Comment