The artist takes a walk. A great title for a better world.
Here’s a more accurate one: The artist, a wise and deeply flawed personality, comes back from a walk, and the world is improved.
Lena went for a walk in high autumn a couple years ago, and annihilation has been delayed another generation at least. A Putin and and a Trump and a ding dong general or two got their arrogance stopped by a hastily built brick wall, in the guise of a sneaky gas cramp or a beloved sick granddaughter. Even the expressionless monsters of power feel pain. Our ex-president, George Bush Jr., softens his private agony with paint. After summoning the death of a million and more, he draws legless veterans and colors them in. Any artist knows that if George Bush Jr. was ever a painter worth his salt, then he could have gone for a walk and spared his future inside ears from the agony wails of the death witch. But George Bush Jr. is not an artist. He’s just a dirty rotten killer.
Lena and myself are artists. Which means we are life givers. We, like all mammals of any species, take what must be ours and is thought to be necessary for survival. However, as artists (aka: aristocrats of the spirit), we are walkers too, sometimes with nowhere to go. We are peaceful perambulators, giving back to life a better world than what we started with.
Which world do you want? The boy with his cat or the ghosts of legless veterans? Take a walk into the woods, dear artist, and be a better human being than any future President will ever dream.