TONIGHT, as Easter approaches, almost as if my life were reasonably organized, and affairs somewhat in order, etc., I wanted to grab the opportunity to send out your way the canvas as of the next phase in its evolution. Timing can be everything, and between the last image you’ve seen and this one there has been a critical “redefinition” of the work, or shift within it, that would affect and guide every step of its future progression.
It’s simple, really; the night painting you last saw has begun its transformation into a work to be called “Biscayne Day!” The deeper blues and purples that seemed to gather in the aged and mysterious branches like approaching darkness have begun giving way to that greater range of color called for by the light and “feel” of a sunny afternoon, spent by the bay.
Why? The reasons are not particularly subtle or complex, but call for just a bit more time than I am now give an explanation. The story will be told, and we will stick close along the journey’s path, no matter the highs, lows, or unexpected and winding curves that might lie ahead. We will get there together.
As much as anything, I wanted to send the painting out to you tonight as an expression of my hope and prayer that we might all be somehow opened up to receiving the gifts attendant to the spirit of Easter. And I mean, no matter what our faith, creed, or any lack thereof, in part or in whole. I speak of a shared human need for (what might feel like) miracle sometimes, and a promise of resurrection that is much, much more than merely poetic.
Because it seems that if we are not being always reborn, then we are not really living, but closer to dying. Many these days are finding themselves suffering almost unbearably, simply in the being. We wonder how to even ask how it might be that we’ve arrived at such a pass. If any answer might be forthcoming, at all, it’s often quite lost in the braying distraction now so prevalent, serving only to ruin perfectly good silence. And, to keep us violently at each other’s throats, as if we were each, to one another, the only enemy in reach, and very, very angry.
Just about everyone I know seems to be finding themselves engaged in pitched battle, of one kind or the other, or multiple variations, with no end in sight. We are left spent, rudderless, discouraged, and easy pickings for rapacious Corporate America, and a feeble representation of government that doesn’t seem to give a damn, or maybe understand quality. Which is NOT America at all, yet purports to be, and has available to use against us MUCH of our money, and never hesitates to use it.
All of this might feel the way of things now, but it will not always be this way. It will be better. I know that is so, but am not really able to explain it, at all. The knowing comes from deep within my soul, and I cannot doubt it.
And so I send out to you this message in a bottle, in a spirit of profound hope, signed, sealed and delivered in the conviction that we are none of us as alone as we now feel, and neither are any of us the real enemy.