Becoming Young

"It takes a long time to become young"
Pablo Picasso


I spent the day painting, or more precisely, half of the day.  The first half was spent gathering fabric, (horribly wonderful lime green polyester, and fake Chinese silk in hot hot pink).  So fabulous.  Then to my market for things I do not need, but will enjoy in two phases:  delicata squash so finely lined in green stripes on soft-yellow skin, and some little mandarins fresh with leaves still on them.  Some gladiolus from the flower department in striated violet, dark to light.
A thrill to put it together in the studio, with the right lights, the violet against those awful and wonderful fabrics, a scattering of the fruits, some leaves.  A storm.  A winter storm in a warm place. Play. And as playful as this seems, it is work.   A painting then, the first of several before things wilt and dry and become less of themselves. Then a print, then it all goes out somewhere, and people pay for it, so that I can do it all again given the inspiration of the next season, or even better, the in-between seasons, when all things are possible.


So Picasso is right, it takes a long time, but it seems to me that he was already pretty immature and stayed that way.  I doubt if he could do anything at all with the delicata squash by the time he was done with it.  Of course what he did with it was genius.  A dark, wild, and destructive force.  The difference is that I will cook the squash, bring the flowers in to enjoy during meals, then take them back out there to the studio.  A common, garden variety sort of artistic drive.
It works for me.


Why write about this in my tango blog?  Because now I am becoming young in my dance.  It is a little sad, because to learn tango at an older age, we get old faster than we get better.  But this is offset a little by the energy, the fitness, the joy in the music, and the depth that we can feel also at the older age, or an in-between season.   It works for me.