sometime in the early 60's
when I was still that near-empty canvas
about to be painted
the dark strokes began
the old man with the long grey hair
***** beard and tattered clothes
digging through the trash outside the Smithsonian during a first grade field trip
we all stared...no words spoken
no explanation from our teacher
that is my first vivid memory of the dark strokes
the second was an incident in Dallas, Texas
this was black paint in very bold strokes
that never seemed to dry
smaller dark strokes were interspersed with bright colors as well
for this is the painting of life
learning we were poor
that my father worked two or three jobs to feed the eight of us
over the many years
such a good man
a quiet genius set out to provide at age thirteen when his father passed of TB
it was all he did...work
but he was a brilliant man
if not accessible...a poet as well
which I discovered after his death
his colors
his painting was very dark
save for one bright stroke of light that drew the eye first
the crowning achievement of his lifetime
my Mother
who added so much light against the darkness in all our paintings
an Angel on earth
the balance that provided hope
moved us along
matched every dark stroke life threw our way
gave us all reason to view our paintings upon completion
with the joy of knowing that we would soon be with the artists
once again