Strange little ship, Bobbing in the sea, I looked into a painting, But all I saw was me
I saw it in the thrift shop auction window and knew I had to have it. I impatiently waited for the clock to wind down to slip in my bid at the last second so I knew no one would trump my bid. Mine, like Gollum has found her precious. The painting wasn’t a great masterpiece or anything but it captured me for some reason, this strange symmetrical ship floating in a mist of blue and grays. It was from a tryptic series but the others like it in different hues just did not call to me the same way. Who’s to say why an image may strike a cord with one viewer and not with the next. Maybe I related to the little ship, maybe I sometime feel like it’s a my portrait truer than a depiction of my face. Maybe I see some truth of my insecurities, seemingly lost alone in a haze on the open sea, in a calm before a storm, waters slightly rippling maybe suggesting a unseen turbulence churning beneath it’s surface. Or maybe it just reminded me of home and family, the coast where I spent so many grey years walking in the fog along the boat yards. Maybe I just like the calm meditative feeling I have when I look at it, the stillness, the symmetry of having neither the path ahead nor the path behind be a sharp fixation, a reminder that all that matters is the moment.