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
