There are stories of Jutta's not mine to tell.
And in surviving there are things put aside, as one does after plane crashes and other sundry disasters.
But then one day she picked up her brushes again.
Early early days she relearned each stroke.
And then one day I began to sit for her.
Early early days she relearned to look and then to see.
Restart, relearn, rebirth, repeat. Again, again, again, repeat.
There in Jutta's Kitchen, sitting quietly for hours, often hung-over, anticipating my next cigarette and daydreaming of a life eventually never lived, I learned how "in action there is release from anguish of mind."*
*Frank Lloyd Wright
2 comments:
The portraits--still moments--you make them parcels to unwrap, a slow and dynamic process.
After my father died I stayed in Pgh., painting and dreaming of a return to art school. The self-portraits showed me hollow-eyed but with color squirting out of every edge.
These portraits have the re- of the artist and the sitter.
Wow. Thank you so much for such a powerful and incredible comment.
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