Somewhere in Between

We are between the holidays, now, and there is nothing particularly outstanding about how southern Louisiana spends this time compared to other places. Lots of folks are exchanging Christmas presents and lots of others are out scooping up after Christmas sales … you know, the usual, materialistic American activity.

I am painting, mostly. I have not yet moved into the apartment I am preparing, because I am still painting the walls a pale yellow and the trim a linen white … on the advice of a friend … ahem! Seriously, it was the best advice anyone has given me in quite some time that I actually acted upon, and the results are … what word should I use? … sublime, perfection, exquisite. Perhaps there is not just one word that tells how totally perfect the results are proving to be.

Of course, I had to attempt a variation on the theme by bringing in a few contrasting colors, and, thus, the task has taken longer than anticipated ... as I have had to paint over the contrasting colors. After two successes and two disasters I have committed to finishing the job with no more experimentation. One can overdo a good thing.

My younger daughter is in Orlando, seeing Disney World with the family of a friend and preparing for the LSU bowl game on New Year’s Day, and the older daughter has not yet arrived for her intended visit. And I am contemplating the space in between.

That space that I always seem to find to be so fascinating. It shows up in the oddest places. Today it was the random first-time meeting of someone who not only knew a truly special friend of mine, but who was also present at his funeral when I sobbed my way through a poem I read in memoriam. I was reminded how much I miss my friend and what a large space he has left behind.

Those of you who are artists will understand the difference between painting the line and painting the shadow; between painting a figure and painting the space around the figure. Well, I sometimes cannot resist contemplating the space that has no figure for contrast; the space that is contrast. The space that my friend, Bill, left is that sort of space. All contrast.

You know, he always said some day I would write about him. I never wanted to admit he was right.