Over the last couple of days I have been thinking a lot about my father. Thoughts like these always come unexpectedly and I think the timing is strange all things considered but there you have it. It is what it is.
A few years ago I took some pictures of homeless men in NYC and they are hanging on my “gallery wall” in my office. I look at those pictures often because it gives me a sense of gratitude for what I have and also reminds me of the fact that we are really all one and should never stop caring. It’s really easy to get bogged down with day to day things and forget these all important facts.
I have posted these before but it certainly can’t hurt to see them again. The first photo is Contemplation and the second is entitled Indifference.
So I am looking at these pictures and I’m wondering about my father. Could he be homeless? Is he famous? Is he just the “guy next door”? I think about the parts of me that may have come from him and whether he is an eternal optimist or someone who always sees the glass half empty. Somehow and don’t ask me why but I doubt it. I fancy him the optimistic type. Maybe it’s my fantasy of having one out of two people responsible for my creation out there feeling grateful that I exist. I’m not sure. I mean I don’t even know if he has a clue whether or not I exist. If he does, I wonder…..do I ever cross his mind?
These are questions that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. They would haunt me if I allowed them to (which I don’t) but there are days like the last few where the thoughts do come whether I want them to or not. I feel like it is ever present, just sort of floating around untethered in my subconscious mind ready to pop up like one of those hideous jack-in-the-box clowns. You all know how I feel about clowns. NOT a fan.
It reminds me of this poem I wrote a while back. My poetry has no order to it. Like I said about my thoughts; it is what it is. But I think it is representational of the ever present part of who I am that will always be there. It’s just something I have to learn to live with I guess. Looking at my art I think I may have turned this part of me into some kind of muse. That’s not not so bad. Some of the greatest art in the world has come from an artist’s inner turmoil. Trying to turn a negative into a positive. That sounds like something I would do. I would like to think maybe this is something I inherited from my father. Whoever he may be.
So much good
so much pleasure
so much joy.
It is enough to sustain
and keep at bay
that deep and original pain.
Life is good.
A quiet sadness
waiting for the opportunity to
Expression is multiplied inside
I don’t know, maybe the lights hide it.
Maybe it is bat like and only comes out in dreams
hiding behind the dark of night
safe from ridicule or shame.
On the surface the lines on my face are the only indication that something
but the smile
oh the smile draws the eye
that quiet place within.
that longs for a voice of it’s own.
Until the night and my dreams arrive
you may enjoy my smile
that is all there is