21 May 2000
To quote Han Solo, "I feel terrible." Though, in my case, it isn't the result of gross physical abuse. My bad feelings are generated by continuing dull weather and a certain amount of pressure.
The canvas is no longer just a big blue splotch over a green splotch. Now it's a big blue splotch surrounded by a dark gray border with a very rough outline of pale white castle floating in pale white clouds. The green splotch has been painted out entirely: I realized that trying to paint a foreground landscape would be a big, big mistake, given my talent and expertise (i.e.-- or do I mean e.g.?--, "limited").
I'm feeling the pressure. Sarah is expecting this painting for her birthday. Pressure. I know I don't have to impress her. I know I don't have to buy her love. (She still loves me even though I once gave her a board for Christmas-- that's another story.) I know the painting isn't really beyond my limited capabilities, but-- but...
I keep thinking that there won't be enough time to do it right. If only I knew what I was doing! If only I had learned to paint when I had the chance and the lessons...
Life. Pfui. I want a rewrite! Somebody write in where I went to art school and graduated with a Masters in Fine Arts, and was bidding fair to become one of the most influential painters of the millennium, but I gave it up when I met the love of my life and decided to raise a family and--
Geez. Did you guys watch the X-Files Seventh Season Finale? At last! A close encounter for Mulder and Scully. But implied only; we will have to wait for the
"result" and backtrack nine months to find out exactly when their "close encounter" occurred-- or tune in next season to find another explanation all together... Nah, Scully looked too happy. It may not be true, but she admits of the possiblity, so...
Damn, I feel cheated. What happened to the accepted standard of "audience omniscient"? How dare they keep secrets! This smacks of "ducks in the machine"! *-- but I'm the last one who should throw stones. I did exactly the same thing to two TV characters once upon a time...
Boy! Will Mulder be surprised when he gets back! Meanwhile, a little joy, a little angst for Scully-- which reminds me, just by the way, that I came across a sonnet by Conrad Aiken the other day. It's called Discordants. It's about grief. And love.
* That's how deus ex machina, a god from the machine, came out in Latin class. It's a device used, usually, by very bad writers, to "solve" story problems by introducing, suddenly and unexpectedly, people or events (fait accompli, i.e., "a thing accomplished, and presumably irreversable") necessary to make the story make sense.
For example, Chris Carter saying to the bewildered X-Files viewers, "Oh, didn't we mention that when Scully stayed over at Mulder's after his mom died that, well, you know? Well, that's what happened. It was obvious. Everybody knew. Really." Unless, of course, he's going to tell us that something happened that time Scully was with Cancer Man and she fell asleep and woke up in her jammies-- or about the time-- Nuts. Let it be the "aliens." Again. And does anyone want to offer odds on the inevitable trials and tribulations Scully will undoubtedly encounter next season? No? I didn't think so.
Copyright © 2000 New Moon
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