Saturday, February 12, 2011
Sometimes I cry. I saw his gift as an artist. Bought his Red Painting for a pittance. Painting style uniquely his. A canvas filled with the deepest red you've ever seen. And in that red a face in a darker shade of red; Sometimes a sad face, haunted, filled with pain, sometimes an angry face filled with hate; the painting always a mirror that reflects our mood. A masterpiece in red. Yet he put art aside so he could become a salesman; not a salesman and an artist, mind you. A full time, all of his time salesman. Last I heard he was doing well as a salesman. I'm glad he's successful; yet sometimes I cry; because I know that somewhere in his soul, hidden in a dark corner, in a cell sits a great artist who also cries.
Monday, January 17, 2011
"This deserts gonna get us" I told my big old friend. The Mastiff wagged its tail and we staggered off again. Canteen a long time empty; the sand a blinding glare. My soul cried out for water. As the mastiff sniffed the air. " Do you smell something? " I asked him.