- the gentle dip of telephone wires between two telegraph poles.
- a tightrope cable between two stanchions under a circus big top.
- playmates and their skipping rope
- silky spider thread bejeweled with dew drops
- the high flying string tether between kiter and his kite
My dear father, Joseph, passed away December 23rd. 88 years old died in his sleep shortly after I returned home from visiting him in South Carolina.
Within one year, the experience of this third death has created not a catenary line I hold between two points of birth and death but a parabolic curve with a deep, tragic trough stricken heavily with the weight of grief.
- like a telephone wire after an ice storm,
- like the tightrope of an aerial acrobat carrying three fellow travelers upon his shoulders
- like the string of the kite which lost its loft,
- like the skipping rope befuddled by a playmate's misstep.
This past Sunday in the parking garage, I sat in my car frozen with fear. My car was packed with painting gear and a rendezvous with another painter was planned but I couldn't move. "Go home, go home", came hissing in my ear. "Go home". I called my friend and cancelled.
|Wetlands in Littleton, MA|
Here is the painting I painted after wrestling off fear and grief. Fresh air did help in dispelling what ailed me in that parking garage...for the time being.
Love you Dad.