Apocalyptic Goldfinch

Despite apocalyptic storm warnings we loaded the car and lit out for Massachusetts to spend the night at at my sig others’ childhood friends house in Westborough and then, in the morning,  go to my kids’ gymnastics meet in Providence, Rhode Island. On the snowy road were DOT signs that blinked “Storm Alert: Limit Travel” and “Heavy Snow, Watch for Ice” and “Srsly, don’t go on a road trip this weekend” and “Ty Meier don’t go to your kids’ Gymnastics meet” and “WTF are you doing, stay home, we’re not kidding” and “Hey when you end up stuck in an eight car pileup don’t tell DOT we didn’t tell you” and “DOT is posting you on youtube, you idiot”

We got snowed in at the friends house in Massachusetts (I wish they’d warn us about stuff like this!) and never made it to the Gymnastics meet.

The ladies went on a Eskimo hike, the kids disappeared upstairs and left the fellow of the house, a 50 yr old sys admin, and I in the kitchen.I dreaded small talk but it went differently: The fellow had been diagnosed with Parkinsons a year ago and succinctly laid down his situation in life, and it was oddly wonderful.

He described the really bad things and interestingly, the really good things about being diagnosed with Parkinsons and I swear to god if I could bottle a conversation and pour it into my artwork, this conversation would be it.  He talked about his goals, his deteriorating health, his kids’ attitudes, the medicines he was on (how he struggles to pay for them) and most importantly the community of people around him forming ranks and being supportive. Before I could give advice he kindly said “Everyone tries to give me advice”.  His attitude to being in a terrible situation was so healthy that the rest of the weekend went easy, friendly, cathartic, fun. We ate, we drank, we watched the Patriots barely win the playoff against New Orleans and it was good. I drew this while everyone cooked, rode hoverboards, and played games:

This started as a pencil drawing on an artboard, then I washed it grey, then quilled in the lines with india ink, and lastly attacked it with grey and white brushes. It’s got a lot more brushwork then usual. When does a drawing stop being a drawing and start being a painting?

This started as a pencil drawing on an artboard, then I washed it grey, then quilled in the lines with india ink, and lastly attacked it with grey and white brushes. It’s got a lot more brushwork then usual. When does a drawing stop being a drawing and start being a painting?

When we drove home through the crazy bitter cold and got home to our snow-covered driveway, it turned out to not be snow covered at all because, knowing we were out of town, our neighbors had snowblowed it for us.