These days, even though it’s suddenly legally okay to be out and about in the shops again, we are being told to keep our distance, to stay distant even from the air around others and from mysterious unsafe surfaces, whatever they may be. Are thoughts contagious? What about bars of soap, bananas and shrink-wrapped books, before peeling off the skin? Answers have always been pretty murky out there, as skin divers must know, and people’s eyes— when they use their masks at all— are so inscrutable. After dog-tiring trips to a beach and a park, I come home more exhausted than I have any right to be. I feel tired of being around people these days, since now so few return a hello—afraid of catching...what? I am tired of the same walls. I want to see the world in a different light. Just for today, I am turning all my paintings of seascape horizons on their sides. Now I can look out over the living-dining room gallery and rest my eyes on the distant... strangely tilted axis of the vertical. These days, yes, I find myself longing for, and being, home at the same time, singing Karla Bonoff: “Home sings me of sweet things. Life there has its own wings to fly over the mountains, though I’m standing still. La la la la la....”
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