just passing above the middle

I am 53. Just passing above the middle, should I hit 100. I’d most enjoy cliff leaping in the saddle of a ’56 Cadillac Eldorado Convertible. Metallic silver and yes, big ass whitewalls–are there any other kind. If I make it to the other side, goodie for me. If that Caddie craves a good old-fashioned swan dive–feel its metallic skin synchronize with the sun, far be it from me to begrudge a classic its last butt kickin’ ride. Blaze away on fumes of glory–odiferous but bright. At the end of this particular road, don’t want anything else but that Caddie’s brilliant grill smiling in my cheesy face.

So here’s the thing about passing just above the middle. I’m a painter sometimes. Not always. Not often enough. Words seem to flow more (lately) off my cheap brushes than grade-two level paint. The good stuff, authentic pigments magicked with fine mediums are out of my studio basement league. And if we’re waxing oils, nothing ever more brilliant hit gessoed linen. Long ago the art person hiding in my head bought a big ass white canvas–is there any other kind. This 5′ x 4′ blank rectangle partially disappeared behind a bedroom dresser. The rest was concealed by a painting done ages ago when I wasn’t drowning in midnight words.

Change has been hanging out with me. He can be an overbearing bastard and so enjoys boxing ears. He’s been asking all sorts of questions lately. When you’re passing just above the middle, you have more questions than answers. All along, you’ve been sucking in a portfolio of answers. Hit the alarm clock and drive into a day of questions and answers. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Until change dude starts banging you from behind. He wants to know what will satisfy you now. Really get you down deep in your sweet spot. You’ve done many things already. Some stuff has been figured out. A few hidden memories still flush red. What is it you really want? What is it you haven’t done yet?

My mind is blank but I need to get this guy off my back–he’s a load. Then sometimes things come together. My first just-passing-above-the-middle epiphany. Mind blank. Blank. Blank canvas. I’m a painter sometimes. Not always. Not often enough. I haven’t touched gorgeous oils in awhile. In my 53 years of living, I have never painted an ocean.
first ocean

so here she is, my first ocean, not quite finished, need to hit a few more spots, used no reference images just a wing and a prayer and lots of eye squinting, waiting until change dude eases up a bit