Of clay and turns…

I enjoy Mr. Tom Cochrane’s “Life is a Highway.” I’m onea them “half-hearted” listeners. It’s always been too strenuous to capture/record/recite words of songs exactly as they come outta the mouths of the artists. Until three minutes ago, I had no idea whointhehell wrote this song. Until two minutes ago, I had no idea the exact lyrics.

What I thought I heard was “Life is a highway… I did it my way - all night long.” Now I can’t read music - but, like scanning the headlines of the newspaper - I gets a general drift of whatinthehell’s going on - and I never know exactly whatinthehell is said - I just know music makes me ‘feel.’

At conception, we start in the belly - formulation. For nine months - we combine halfa this and halfa that to become us. Soon after, the ‘potters’ bend us, shape us, anyway you want us. Long as you love me, it’s alright.

One day, the two primary points of this triangle lose their pull - and it’s our job to REALLY become who we is. This age varies a lot - and sometimes, it ain’t even a triangle that’s formed us - as perhaps one parent never was there.. There sporadically.. Even worse, simply gone.

One would think - there’d be a certain point, a certain age - where the gosh darn “piece of art” is completed - you know exactly what it is, what it stands for, where it’s going, and what it’s gonna do.

We pick routes. Sometimes they lead us to heaven on earth - and sometimes we reach dead ends. Some even drive up to illusions, settle in - and one day fall off the shelf and the clay is shattered.

It’s back to that day of separation. Whothehell am I, what do I stand for, where am I going, and what am I gonna do. Time, the sun, wind, rain, conditions strengthened us - and allofasudden it’s “ruh roh.”

I tremendously enjoy this highway of life. I look thru the windshield so much more in wonder than I usedta. I usedta just go, do, not think about it. Whatever happened, happened. I was pretty much molded by others.

Now I’m the potter, and the subject is me. Kinda skeery, kinda cool, I’m in charge. What usedta be run, dive, splash - is now tip-toe, dip the foot in the water.. Is it ok? Do I want this? Is it an oasis or an illusion? Dead end mebbe?

Sometimes it’s like being in a Haunted House - vision don’t help - u just feel your way along. Sometimes it’s like a go-cart with a governor and walls that enclose. Sometimes it’s like a Golden Retriever in an open field.

I never was artsy. Like Rainman, I’m an excellent driver - but as I age, there’s more car lengths inbetween on purpose. It ain’t so much about the gettin’ there as it is “the goin.”

We have our Creator. We have our parents. We’re temporarily led by friends as youths. We then either coexist, compromise, build - or, scrap the project and start anew.

Papa was a rolling stone. Wherever he laid his hat was his home. I ain’t so sure I’ll ever finish “the project.” I do, however, love the feel of fresh, wettened clay in my hands. I enjoy, inspitea $4 a gallon gas, making whichever turn whenever I wanna. Who knows if the day will come we’ll pull our easels closer in attempt to coexist, compromise, build together. Is this the right person riding shotgun, or do I hit the eject button?

How for art thou? I dunno, I ain’t finished. Life is a highway, I did it my way all night long.

Eggs, triangles, mimicking, molding, emulating, tippy-toeing, walking out on the diving board, diving in, turning around, being knocked off the shelf, fresh clay, better - more concentrated vision/thoughts - it’s all a pop quiz as we go.

One day, I’ll know what I wanna be when I grow up. Mebbe not steadfastly, but I’ll get there. Don’t know about you, but I’m enjoying the hell outta the ride - inspitea the occasional potholes, detours, one-way streets, car troubles and fender benders.

It’s all about clay and turns. Art you in agreeance? Love, Victurd.