Unknown

I’ve been happily organizing slides of hundreds of paintings I did in previous decades. Never able to sell any, but then I never really tried. Grateful for the aesthetic experience, happy at how life turned out.

When I get into one of those contemplative funks about how differently life might have been “if only,” it helps to consider myself a literati artist. Those ancient Chinese painters, known by only a score or so of existent works, if that many, claimed to paint only for themselves and friends. I admire them and feel kin. Then I become properly attuned to the universe and heave a sigh of relief when realizing how badly things might have turned out “if only.”

Before I gave it up painting altogether 20 years ago, I made an honest living creating software projects, until I retired from that about 10 years ago. More unknown projects, gone with the snows of yesteryear, fun in their time and at least I got paid. But now I have much more left of my art than I do of my software.

Of course those artifacts too will vanish in another decade or so. Most lives are fully unknown outside a small circle. I salute them, join them, and realize we have all been just as meaningful and infinite as anyone who briefly adorns museum walls and history books.