Living in the Dark

Electrical work in Mexico looks like shoots and ladders for the epileptic. Wires extend from all cracks and crevices. Wires mate with other wires in a series of bootlegged bandages and Where's-Waldo-type love. Street lights are borrowed from with crow bars and electrical tape; Neighbors are siphoned from with a secrete twist of two haggardly cut electrical currents; there is an end to the world, but it won't be found in the resourceful half-assedness of Mexicans.

The wires that reside near my circuit breaker have been molested countless times, and are some sort of inbred genetic freakshow. That being said, it smelled like a fried short when I walked through the front door. Luckily, my crockpot was still crocking, and my newly compiled sausage, onion, and tomato stew, was simmering away. I poured a bowl, grabbed a piece of bread, and headed for my living room. When I flicked on the lights, I watched the lamp, which was already on, flicker and then die. The whole house died. I grabbed my headlight, and since my wireless is borrowed from a neighbor, well, I still had service.

I promised a student I would paint her a picture of her and her friend, for her friend's birthday. I tried a watercolor about a month ago, but it didn't really pan out. Her friend's birthday is tomorrow. With a headlamp in hand, and several old candles, I crawled back to my ramshackle art studio. I set it all up under the small frame light emanating from my forehead. I slipped on my crusty smock, and I hunkered down. I made a playlist with 70% battery life left on my Mac. I hunkered down. In the dark, I had no need to be precise. My recklessness with the brush and eventually the pallet knife, had me worried: was this going to be another mediocre attempt at art? I promised a painting for a present, and I don't have much time for excuses.

I painted in the dark, and when I turned my headlamp off, I could see nothing of my work. I snapped a picture with a little flash, and loaded it up. I have 5% battery now.

I am out and gone. Until we meet again.

This post was for Peter Kline.