Just Call Me Alice

Sometimes nothing conveys tone more effectively than Mark Rothko. He sets the stage with brushstrokes, lines, and color. Each drip of paint, each variant in texture becomes a thought, a memory, a secret piece of the artist struggling to articulate something ... anything. It's an intimate conversation between the artist and the canvas that leaves the viewer floating in a sea of blackened-blue, adrift on waves of emotion...but I digress.

It's been an odd couple of days for me. I don't usually make a blog post that isn't courtesy of Youtube or a piece of writing, but...well, I have something to say, or rather, share...

My seven year old sat down and read a book to me yesterday and some things occurred in my personal life, or maybe clarified. I won't bore you all with personal details, but I will say that Gabriel's reading session was my highlight thus far. To see a child dealing with ADHD have such a breakthrough is amazing. He was 10 weeks premature, weighed 2lbs 12oz, and spent the first month of his life in the nicu, fighting to survive. So his successes are a miracle to watch. Even if reading a book seems like a small thing to most of us, it's a milestone for Gabriel.

As to the rest. Well I don't know. I suppose I'll do what I always do and fall back down the rabbit hole, write, and paint until I sort out my thoughts. Not everything in life has to make sense. Some things simply are.

I wish you all a happy day and I'll post some tawdry, filth laden endeavor tomorrow.

:)