Time Lapse

Drawing with the camera running! I figured that doing it as a time-lapsed video may be less mind numbing if you actually choose to watch these.  😉

This is not the first drawing of the new year for me. Rather it is the first post I am making, so that I may hold myself accountable and move forward.

Message In a Bottle 1

I am writing a letter to the void. I don't expect anyone to read this nor to respond. Maybe that is the beauty of it, poetry for the stars. No-one to hear and nobody to care.

I have not written nor posted on this blog since 2011. That is the year my son was born. what a journey and challenge being a father is! No sleep for the first two years, and you truly come to understand what it is to put anothers needs before your own. Two to four were fantastic years! How much laughter can one little person bring to you? Endless joys!

It is the first of January, 2019. My son turned seven in December. He has cancer. He may not live to see his eighth birthday. We found out when he was four. The first of February will be the third year anniversary. There needs to be a word for the anniversary of bad things. Something more, weighted. Anniversary seems to be a happy word. Ah, language and the human mind. The fragile connections that we make with the intangible, and how potent those seem to us.

Forgive me. I ramble. 

I cannot tell you how tired I am. I am tired of hurting and hoping, only to lose it again. My wonderful wife, how she hurts as well. Watching someone die is not a pleasant thing. Watching someone who is young, and vigorous wither before you is another form of hell altogether. I have not lost all hope. We still fight for him. But it has become a herculean task to maintain a healthy, daily, lifestyle unencumbered by grief and misery. He is on his fourth recurrence. Statistically this is about as bad as it gets. 

I don't think I know how to go forward with dignity from here. I will manage the little things. I am good at surviving. I eat and sleep as best as I can. I sit at my drawing table less than I did before, and when I do it seems as if my muse has fled. Maybe she is still there, and simply weeps over my shoulder. I have not felt inspired much lately, but I have come to realize something. I think I NEED to do art to live through this. It may not be good art, but I will do it and I am going to start posting again.

And so we come to the title of this post. My message in a bottle. I am not asking for help. I am putting the things that hurt me into words, locking them up tightly, and throwing them into the sea. Maybe these bottles will bob, and drift and spin, as my thoughts often do these days. Dashing themselves upon some distant shore. So much flotsam and jetsam. Maybe someone will even read this. Who knows? If my stream of conscience offends you, I'm sorry. Throw the bottle back into the waters from whence it came...

I am not feeling sorry for myself. This is the way of life. We are born. We live, and we die. I believe the universe to be a neutral place ruled by entropy. It does not care about fairness nor inequity. Things simply are the way they are. It is just an attempt by me to scour my mind free of the grief and rage that builds from going through this experience. 

If you don't want to read about this, avoid any post titled, "Message a Bottle". I will number them as I proceed in an attempt to impose some form of structure onto my world.

Safe Sailing