The Birth and Death of the Day



I had no intentions of ever writing about this painting. In fact, I’m not sure I even wanted to show anyone. I certainly won’t be adding this link to my facebook. No way. I thought the post about Genevieve’s painting would be the most personal entry I’d ever publish but I was wrong.

I met Lauren last October while I was making my way back from traveling. I was coming down from the highest week of my life in Dublin with my dear friend Clementine. Stopping in Maryland to visit family that I hadn’t seen in ages seemed like a good idea. So I camped out in Silver Spring with my aunt and uncle and during my stay I made some new friends and reconnected with old ones. One of those old friends introduced me to Lauren; a shy but genuine person who shared my love for coffee and music.

Incidentally, Lauren and I grew up 13 miles apart from one another, but never met. And then she lived in Pacifica and worked less than a mile from my apartment a few years ago. Her best friend even attended the art institute two blocks from my old office building in the Financial District, and still we never met until now.

Our friendship, romance, whatever developed quickly and intensely an the inspiration for this painting accumulated over 7 minutes and 49 seconds.

“I feel like I just fell in and out of love.” I said. She stared at me wide eyed as we drove down windy back roads at night.

After that we wavered between agony and bliss and by the time March came around we had been through enough to last a lifetime. I had lived and died a thousand times and it was time to record all of this in the only way that I truly find satisfying.

This painting consumed me. When I finished it I sobbed. At the time it was the only thing I had and it was the only thing that made me feel close to her. At the time I finished it, we were over. But what I had to show for it was this: everything to nothing, confusing happiness, and agony, and bliss.



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