What was to be a chosen adventure

Choose Your Own Adventure books were a big part of my 2nd and 3rd grade school reading experience, and sometimes I miss this infuriating and recursive genre.  So in case you feel the same:

You sit alone in your office, flipping through jewels pictured in a game on your phone so they would line up and disappear.  Time runs out on this level: game over.  You look up at the absence of any client in sight.  Maybe they all lined up too well and disappeared like the jewels.  The phone vibrates to alert you to a new email from the property management company.  Rent is four months late now, times run out: game over.

Call the bank for a loan

Start selling your office furniture on Craigslist

Rob a liquor store

What was to be improved

I am not really comfortable acting in positions of authority.  It doesn't seem to fit my temperament.  However, these positions must exist for the stable and efficient caretaking of any social or physical structure, and as we gain experience and stewardships in this life it is incumbent upon us to graciously accept new responsibilities and challenges.   So it is that on some Saturday mornings, I don the ceremonial denim and cotton and make the pilgrimage to the temples of home improvement to perform the rituals of home ownership.

The priests who officiate in these temples are friendly and helpful enough, but as any expert in their field they would much rather speak at length with skilled and experienced practitioners.  It becomes apparent that they quickly tire of repeating the simple liturgies to the neophytes and our puzzled expressions annoy them when they have finished communicating the most basic of principles.

I miss the days when I would follow my dad into these massive structures, where he would navigate the maze of relics; select the exact items, their quantity and measurements, and all that was expected of me was to do some lifting and eat the ice cream purchased on the way home.  Don't get me wrong, the ice cream is still purchased, it is just no longer consumed with the same ignorant peacefulness enjoyed by those who are not thinking about how to replace small parts of a spigot.  Or if that person at the Home Depot had just made up the word 'spigot' in hopes of getting other people to think I was using some racially insensitive term.   

What was to be abstract

I understand that painting is a difficult art form to master, and can take years of training and practice before one can produce a significant piece; however, that is no excuse for taking shortcuts and cheating. I am, of course, speaking of abstract art.  Abstract art is cheating. 

Instead of the artist owning the responsibility to decide on an image and then painting the image so everyone can recognize it, they just put any old mixture of paint on the canvas, throw it out to the public and say, "Here you go, figure it out, feel however you want about it, just give me a million dollars." 

From time to time though, I cannot help but fall into a feelings trap with certain pieces.  For example, I had never heard of Zao Wou-ki until I read his obituary a few weeks ago. There was a link to some of his work and the piece below trapped me.  I've spent what adds up to hours staring at it over the last few weeks and just when I think I'm done, there is a perspective shift and there is a whole new painting pulling me in.  It is calming, haunting, hopeful, and sad (like an old Disney movie).

But, it is still cheating. And Zao should be ashamed of himself for not painting horses or old boats or something. 


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