>Rachel took me out on Saturday — a bit of a pre-birthday celebration, we went out to Wayland MA for a play.

It was a community theater, but in name only. The name of the play was: Picasso – Pablo Picasso and Albert Einstein meet in a bar in France, 1903. Written by Steve Martin, and being of the absurdist genre… it was marvelous, and wonderfully apt for a person such as myself.

I was enjoying the show, the random happenings, the silly conversations, and the intricate descriptions of man/woman relations when the words hit me like a slap.

I feel a bit like Pablo — seeing what it’s like, everywhere I turn, I wonder…

I have an earnest feeling behind it, most of the time. Other times it’s just convenient, there, walking by… but often I long for that perfect pinnacle of all I’ve ever wanted. It’ll never be so, I know it, but yet I wonder… how many more before I’m back where I started? There’s just so much uncertainty, so much not yet done.

My apologies to all the paintings imagined, but never painted… and to those that I’ve painted unintentionally, but turned out to be the most beautiful.