Whenever a holiday weekend arrives, I always have such festive hopes about how I'm going to spend it. Of course, I always spend such weekends alone, but I'm used to that...it never dampens my spirits (though maybe it should).
Last week, I even bought a wooden picnic table for my back yard, so I could sit out there and drink beer in the lovely spring weather, and indeed, the weather has been beautiful.
I took my Personal Holiday from work tonight, to get a fast start into the long weekend...bought beer, pizza, cigars...
So today, to begin the Memorial Day holiday, I awoke from a sad and poignant dream about my divorce..., and the dream was, of course, very depressing. Not only because of the dream itself, but because it's very occurrence reminds me that I've never really gotten over it. I felt so pathetic, it was all I could do to get out of bed.
But Friday is the day I have supper at my parents, so I went over there to discuss death and disease...a good meal, but geez...
From there I went to an art opening of an old art school friend. I like his work, but he doesn't seem to be evolving much artistically, because his work sells so well. At shows like this, I always see a lot of old friends. I was surprised to see a woman I had grown up with, all through grade school...she is now 58, and still the prettiest girl in the room. From about the age of 8 until about 18, I was secretly, desperately in love with her, and I'm sure she had no idea. She married a good guy about 40 years ago and they're still together. I saw him first (and immediately began scanning the room for his wife), and he had to call her attention to me, because she didn't recognize me. When I said my name, she brightened and gave me a big hug. People rarely hug me. This was one of the top ten hugs of my life. We didn't talk long...there really wasn't a lot to say. At least on her part. But wow.
What must it be like, for a man to share his life with a woman like that? The sweetest, most gracefully aging woman I have ever seen.
Well, I was ready to leave. I was psychologically sapped. But before I did, one of my old art school compadres and I got into a short, but serious discussion about why the hell we kept making art. What was the point? That we couldn't come to a conclusion put the cap on an unexpectedly disturbing day.
Why am I telling any of you this? I had to tell somebody...And I'd like to think that there's more to making art than cranking it out and selling it. Like living life, and examining it. And letting it flow through your work. I realize that today was not Earth-shaking, in the Grand Scheme of things...There's no reason any of you should give a rat's ass about my day. But as artists, remember that you should be aware of your own days...even painfully aware. The more you are aware, the greater the nourishment to your own work. And the more rewarding it will be.