When Did I Become an Artist?
You have insisted that I paint with you and tell me that my scribbles are … What’s the word?
Beautiful you said, yet …
My body, my life, my history, is lost to me.
When I remember that you are next to me and that I don’t know you, you invite me into a yoga class. Yoga? I have not answered and you take my hand and lead me to a new chair.
A new view. A new voice. A new neighbor.
My identity is slippery and then you come again and appear before my seat and you tell me that it’s time for lunch.
I am so tired. I am painting. I am throwing paint onto the table and I tasted the blue. Now you are flustered and I am admiring my colors.
I am exploring performance and get such little recognition for my larger works.
Sometimes I think of quitting.