Monday May 18, 2009

Being Frank

I stopped at Starbucks for a cappuccino where I ran into Frank, a gentleman in his mid-seventies.

How’s it going, he asked.

Good, I say. You know, painting and writing.

What do you paint? Landscapes?

No. My work comes from the unconscious. Although a landscape might appear.

Yes. I see. There are many levels of consciousness. I hold my tongue—he means many levels of awareness. It’s important not to interrupt the flow with my own awareness.

Some people think I’m crazy, he adds, since I can hear voices and sometimes make out images of people no one else can see.

Hmmm.  What do you think this means?

Well, you know, you can drive down the same road for twenty years, and one day you see something on that road—something that’s been there all along. Why now? So, I don’t try to give my voices meaning.

For the most part it’s an internal affair, like painting.

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