the space in between

A fellow artist and I went out painting in Montauk. He is a fantastic painter, and is in a prominent gallery. The gallery owner has stipulated that he churn out innumerable sea scenes. Nothing wrong with a seascape, I really enjoy painting them, and thoroughly enjoy looking at them. As we set our easels up, he wryly said “Two parts blue, one part green.” Inwardly, we both moaned- the classic two thirds sky, one third land.

Sure, in life we have to do what we have to do. But sometimes, we also have to not do what we have to do. I looked out on the Montauk commercial docks, and saw the hulking fishing boats, snoring and wheezing. I saw the ropes, bleached raw by the sun, covered with green algae down by the water. I saw the pilings. I saw the space in between the boats. I saw the space in between… I saw the biggest sign of protest that I could possibly paint, thrust in the face of those who would tell me what was beautiful, or paintable. Oh yeah, oh yeah- two parts blue, one part green? Here’s the supporting background character being the protagonist, with the beginning at the end, and the piano melody being carried by the left hand, and the climax being placed at the bottom, anapest enjambing trochaic, dangling participles at will, the water and my mind intermingle, chronological order succumbing, no time narrative, no meter music, outside of space and time, both now and forever more. Amen.

You know, artists have temper tantrums too.

And the painting sold.