I like the description of life as being made up of seasons.
I can’t really decide on a favorite season as far as weather goes. I never realize how much I love fall until September comes and things change and my thoughts turn super melancholy and pensive. Almost all of my favorite paintings have taken shape between October and December. Then winter makes it’s entrance, and I love the sharp cold and the cozy feelings and the crash collision of despair and hope. Then spring comes in color and light and I’m a butterfly, and the late summer brings lightning storms every afternoon and it’s just all really beautiful. And it’s beautiful because it changes.
I’m glad the atmosphere can’t make up its mind about what temperature it wants to be, and I like to think of life as seasons because it’s always ever changing. The good things won’t stay forever, and that’s really hard, but it teaches us to treasure those good moments. And each season has 1,000 things that make it difficult or painful, but those things don’t usually last forever either.
At this point, if you think I’m going to bring this post around to some profound conclusion, I’m afraid that’s not the case. Nor will I go back and correct all the run-on sentences and typos and incorrect grammar, because frankly, I really don’t care that much. And maybe I’m rambling about seasons and time passing because these ideas are adjacent to the painting, but I don’t want to address the painting head-on because it’s new and rough and the meaning of it all is still personal to me. Or maybe I just don’t know how to describe it, or I’m to too lazy to give it a valiant attempt.
You know those seasons when you have so many unanswered questions and conflicting thoughts and feeling that you can only really communicate through images and Gregory Alan Isakov lyrics? That’s the season right now, and this painting is representative of that in all its messy, mixed-media existence.
Gregory Alan Isakov might just be my favorite musical artist of all time; his music conveys a sense of longing unmatched by anything else I’ve found. This music has traveled with me through many seasons, and in a way, I hope this painting does some measure of justice to how deep of an impact it’s had me. The title of the work, however, is credited to Ryan O’Neal’s lyrical genius, and it gets a lot closer to describing the painting than this rambling grammatical nightmare of a blog post.
Take care, friends!