Monday, October 26, 2009

Broken.

One work of art destroyed and another one created in the space of just a few short hours. Karma? I don't know for sure. Probably. What I do know is the second that bowl came smashing down from the drying rack onto the kitchen floor, in that split second, a part of me BROKE. I never even got to take a picture of that bowl, one of the first "paint your own pottery" pieces I made for Mr. D in the early days of our marriage. Fortunately, this piece has survived a few beatings and while chipped still retains much of its personality. And, of course, here are the newly acquired works of art I have been eagerly anticipating... thanks to Blog2Print. The printed copy of my first 300 posts. They are absolutely glorious. You see, its not like I choose to believe it, its just a FACT that I have long since accepted. When I create a work of art, a part of me is left in there, a part of me that will live on long after I do. Perhaps that is part of the pull of an artwork... that it somehow houses its creator in a way that no photograph can. Maybe that is why I feel the need to give away my art instead of selling it or keeping it all. I want my family and friends to have a piece of me they can keep with them always. While I know that I will in all likelihood see friends, family and loved ones pass on ahead of me, I never thought I would have to see the end of one of my works of art. Its probably so pathetic. I painted a bowl. It only took me a few hours. So why can't I stop crying? It was my painting. It was my art. It was me.

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