Painting

Painting. A woman facing an expanse of the unknown. That's pretty high-fallutin' for an image on a piece of cardboard. And I’ll carp about the exposure, too—the contrast here is too high—the feeling of the original is more subtle. But there are always these questions, and what I want to get at is what it feels like to walk in here and see this again. That's what's crucial. The way a painting allows for a moment of return. Strange, too--since the experience itself is so immediate.

I put it here once, many years ago, never moved it again. (Well, slight adjustments when it's knocked over by the wind.) It's leaning back against something you don't see--a metal container--a special can of something from Maine--maple-syrup, believe it or not--from my dear pal Tim Higbee, once a student with me here, Tim went on to study lithography at Tamarind, now has a press of his own in a place called Hope. He brought me the Maine maple syrup as a gift...

And should everything find a use? Or be used, that is? I like knowing that Tim's maple-syrup can is hidden--that constitutes a use of its own. I think he'd forgive me for not putting it on pancakes--appreciate the story, no doubt.

For in the end, that's what we have--the story, of course...

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"An expanse of the unknown"--I think I was channeling my favorite Kafka quote, from the Diaries 1910-13: "The silhouette of a man who, his arms half raised at different levels, confronts the thick mist in order to enter it."


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