A silence has descended on Amsterdam. Dinner is up and I look through the window at my little garden. From somewhere, a balloon floats into my little garden. I follow the balloon until it gets stuck in the branches of a bush. Could it have torn itself loose with the help of the wind? Rigged for a party, wedding or just any party? The balloon is silent and looks at me expressionlessly, wobbling gently back and forth.
I eat my food standing at the kitchen counter. Look at the balloon again. If I were small enough, I would float with the balloon. Detached from the earth, perhaps also detached from earthly cares.
I used to dream I could fly. High over everything. Often that went wrong and I crashed back down anyway.
Mindlessly wash dishes, while I keep looking at the balloon. I talk to the balloon, as if a balloon could talk. Artists are weird people anyway, why should I be an exception. To my ears sounds Harry James with his orchestra “It’s been a long time.”. Well, it’s been a long time since my birthday was decorated with balloons.
In early March, an online exhibition of my work and others starts at the site of the Hummingbird and Dragonfly Art gallery in Los Angeles. That work shown there I once painted in a fit of insanity. I would never normally make something like that, but well it’s there and they want to exhibit it.
