Am I who I thought I'd be?
Top 40 blares out the radio unheard, you're stuck in traffic on the 405 but it doesn't matter. Luke-warm water pelts your face, suds wash out of your eyes. It stings a bit. Earbuds dangle as you breathe in overgrown grass on your morning jog. Everything tunes out like TV static and you think. You're experiencing a freeze frame moment, an involuntary clarity of thought.
This happens for me when I'm alone in the studio. The clock tells me it's midnight again. My work is spread out around me as if I were playing a giant hand of poker against myself, the painted cabbages their own suit of cards. My mind ticks along with slower beats from the Beach Boys, a new addition to the playlist rotation. I loosely bleed cobalt violet onto my painting with a pallet knife -- I've never done this before. Time stops. A wave of realization hits me. The toxic emotions I began my painting with are gone, replaced with the excitement of the ending chapter. I open the window to air out the oily fumes.
We've all experienced broken fragments of time where we reach inside ourselves and find a little cabbage -- perhaps two, or even three sometimes. They're incredibly dense, filled with dark matter found between the stars, seemingly insurmountable. As long as we take it layer by layer, we can handle it. Before time resumes, we're patched to v2.0.