reflections

The sun has just risen over the Atlantic and tide is rolling in.  We took a last-minute beach adventure; much-needed after the harsh re-entry into routine after the long holidays.  What remains of the week is a frenzied roster of events and tasks; that peculiar state of daily life as parents and professionals.  I'll enjoy the drive back once we're clear of the 70 miles of incessant billboard vulgarity which defines so many beaches.  I hope for light traffic and blue skies.

...And later, reflections of the sun in the ripples of the pool as my little mermaids dive and glide beneath the surface.  Skills honed last summer as we dutifully put in our daily hours poolside in Florida.  They grow each day now, shooting up like sprouts after heavy rains.

Reflections on the year past and the weeks ahead, each year accelerating with my daughters ever closer to a day when they will move away and begin their own lives.  If I do my job well, they will do so with confidence and wonder; and yet it breaks my heart to think of that day.  Therein lies the rub of parenthood itself.

Reflections on the windy sea as Helios makes his ascent.  Choppy waves move fast to shore and the artist's mind is lost in contemplating line and surface, form and fluidity.  In a few short days I'll return to Spartanburg for the opening reception of the show.  It still feels surreal and distant.  A friend said she was coming and it made me realize that I had forgotten there would be people I knew there Friday night.  Solitary is the practice and the Way.  So much so it is surprising when it is peopled.

Wave wash sound of water caressing sand.  I'll sit in my library tonight and feel recharged; our spontaneous escapade much needed after the harsh re-entry into daily routine from our long holiday break.  Over two weeks back into it and we are all struggling still.  I question why; perhaps too often. I suppose I wonder what purpose these Industrial Age structures of school and work actually serve any more.  We are operating on 19th century paradigms which are long-since obsolete.  Like the provincial sensibilities which make abstract art a hard sell even 100 years into the uniquely American story of it, as a nation we all-too-often mistake nostalgia and narrow mindedness for tradition.