Yesterday morning was all about go.  Chasing the dime, running down the dollar.  Busy for business. Step up, step in, step out. The plan was to meet up with David in Boone and drive down to Lexington to order frames for the large drawings and a few of the paintings.

A couple of miles from Boone I passed a homeless man I had met last year.  A sweet and kind man with a very bad leg.  Slow and steady, cane in hand, he walks the town,  generally in fairly good cheer.  This morning when I saw him I wasn't so sure about that good cheer.  However, I was green on go and decided that he was simply enjoying a leisurely morning walk.  Something he had all the time in the world to do. I managed to hold on to that assesment for a couple of miles.  Problem was that particular part of the roadside was uneven and he looked hot and tired.

So back I went, pulled over and offered him a ride into town. His health has not improved since I saw him last year.  As a matter of fact his leg seemed even worse and it took him a while to hoist himself into the van.  At one point I thought I was going to have to get out, go around and shove him up onto the seat.  But he managed to settle in and off we went.

He was not doing well at all.  He was a bit smelly and a bit bloody.  He looked an awful lot like Teddy does when he comes back from one of his tomcat jaunts.  Bruised here and there, cut here and there. Limping,  hungry, tired and suffering what I suspected to be a world-class hangover.  He was grateful in the extreme for what was a small kindness.

He wasn't the only one grateful.  I had just about managed to convince myself that I was seeing something that wasn't there.  I had actually made an attempt to turn the sight of someone I knew, however casually, and suspected to be suffering into someone having a fine walk on a lovely spring morning.

For an artist that is dangerous business.  It really is all about sight, quite literally what we see.  As artists we're as good as our perceptions of our world as they are what utlimately manifest into the art we make.  If the larger world and its other occupants are of interest to us we may also become aware of how and what they see.  Some would call this concern the study of aethetics.  Equally important, in the human-made world, is what we refuse to see.  The energy of that to which we have become willfully blinded is always present regardless of what we acknowedge.  And my own work of these past few years especially has become increasing concerned with just that phenomena, visual energy.  Both present and absent.

I came very close to what add up to dangerous lies for me. Sometimes I can't make the stop, sometimes I can't be of service.  But I don't really think that was even the point.  The point was my brief willingness to lie about something I saw.  Mike in his dreadful state was just about to tumble off the road.  So was I.