I started this piece a year and a half ago as a way of trying to find humor in the illustrious lengths I would take, raiding my mother’s bedroom in search of where she hid my Clonazapam. She got more clever than she’d been in the past. Rather than the bottom of the sock drawer, she hid them in a coat pocket. One of several coats in a large walk in closet. She even stuffed a Kleenex in the top of the bottle so I wouldn’t hear that beloved rattle in my desperate rummaging.
Still found them. Still took them. Dealt with the consequences later.
I’m always curious to see which one of you the painting chooses and that connection. This is a special piece that is close to my heart. It’s humiliating and pitiful. Maybe it’s not even funny? I’m just trying to make it funny, cause I’d rather laugh than cry.
Not often do I start work, then put it away for a year and a half, then revisit. I don’t like loose ends and unfinished thoughts. For whatever reason this one needed the long pause. It wouldn’t have been this dreamy had I made it a year and a half ago.
