Time, The Thief
Drowning, lost, heartbroken, afraid, time running out; my soul cries for more time, but God demands that what is written in the book of life must be realized. Time, that which we covet, that which brings us closer to those we love, that which is so elusive and contrived. Time waits for no one.
This painting was inspired by my trips to Branford, CT as a young boy of 8 or 9. My father left my mother when I was 5, and occasionally when he lived up to his commitment, we would spend weekends at his new home in Branford. My siblings had natural pairs in the new family, with step-siblings their age. I was alone.
Not knowing how to occupy my time, and not old enough to booze it up with the adults, I was sent to bed, in a windowless basement room, before dark. It is there that my insomnia was seeded. It was there that my creativity was born, with literally nothing else to do but imagine. And so I did, never feeling sorry for myself, just deeply hurt.
Later in life, I grew to love m y father deeply and fully, as he grew through his own pain and suffering to become a more fully realized version of the man who found me nothing but an annoyance. But we didn’t have much time together, because soon after he found his peace, he lost his life.
Time, the thief.
30x40, acrylic on canvas.
Drowning, lost, heartbroken, afraid, time running out; my soul cries for more time, but God demands that what is written in the book of life must be realized. Time, that which we covet, that which brings us closer to those we love, that which is so elusive and contrived. Time waits for no one.
This painting was inspired by my trips to Branford, CT as a young boy of 8 or 9. My father left my mother when I was 5, and occasionally when he lived up to his commitment, we would spend weekends at his new home in Branford. My siblings had natural pairs in the new family, with step-siblings their age. I was alone.
Not knowing how to occupy my time, and not old enough to booze it up with the adults, I was sent to bed, in a windowless basement room, before dark. It is there that my insomnia was seeded. It was there that my creativity was born, with literally nothing else to do but imagine. And so I did, never feeling sorry for myself, just deeply hurt.
Later in life, I grew to love m y father deeply and fully, as he grew through his own pain and suffering to become a more fully realized version of the man who found me nothing but an annoyance. But we didn’t have much time together, because soon after he found his peace, he lost his life.
Time, the thief.
30x40, acrylic on canvas.