“ Life is like photography, you develop from the negatives.” Anonymous

Water Song (2008),acrylic on paper, 46x53 cm (18x21

Water Song (2008),acrylic on paper, 46×53 cm (18×21

 

I will be closing down Rincón Studios. Although I will leave the sign on the fence for prosperity as I continue on with life and my job at Home Depot. I will still paint (hard to stop an addition), perhaps exhibit occasionally and even teach a bit; but that part of my life is passing.  As I made that decision, I realized that perhaps my long journal of that adventure was complete and I should just shut down this site.  But thoughts began to flood my brain, I began writing in my sleep, while I was driving, any time there was a quiet moment; and I realized that there was a bit more to tell. The tale was not complete; that it was past time to tell the real story no one ever wanted to hear.

Once I was keeper of the family stories, tales of great deeds, funny stuff, closets full of skeletons and the ongoing adventure.  Stories were given to me by members of my family to hold and pass down. But that was before the epiphany, before I became a voluntary orphan, before the legend of the fall. Before my awareness of who and what I was and am.  That was when I still believed I was like everyone else and an actual member of my family.

Hard to remember anyone ever actually asking me “Who are you? Where did you come from? What did you do with your life? – and really want an answer.   The questions were always polite and rhetorical.  After a while it became unimportant because if I told the real truth of who I was, what I did and why, people would turn away, uncomfortable with my response, not believing it could be real. No one, they said, could have had such a life.   So I painted a practical and believable picture, superficial at best, a past people could relate to and for a long time I came to accept it as truth.

Now as I approach my so-called “golden years” there are no children, no close friends, no family to give the story depth and definition, to give it eternity.  Not that I am planning to die anytime soon, or am looking for sympathy, understanding, retribution or anything else; but knowing that it would die with me seems a bit wasteful. It is what it is. So l cast it into the ethereal world of time and space.

My personal side of the story melds into the rest and comes in small bits and pieces reconstructed from fractured memories.  The majority of my childhood is a blank page, erased and forgotten, but there are enough scattered memories to enable a tale.  I will recount it as I remember it, as others remembered it, molded into what it was, not necessarily in any chronological order.  However, I will do my best to keep to facts without much embellishment.

It will take  a bit of time and I offer it in short segments staring with the next blog.

At the end of the novel “Islands in the Stream”, Hemmingway’s main character lies dying in a row-boat; as the boat drifts he has a water dream, an awareness, and says:  ‘ “There is no one truth, it is all true.” ‘

Not unlike a water dream, this is my truth and it is all true.

 

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Comments
  1. Dina says:

    All the best for the future!

    Like

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