The Damaging Tilt of Teenage Seclusion

I used to love Pinball.  As a kid I would go over to the mall every weekend, but not for the same reason as all the other kids.  Nope, I wouldn't meander aimlessly throughout, hopping from table to table in the food court.  No, I went right into the arcade and played pinball all the time.  Would spend the entire day there.  Unfortunately, as much as I enjoyed playing, I never was a Pinball Wizard, which, in a way, I suppose is a good thing.

Nevertheless, I thought I would see about coming up with an abstractly layered piece to pay tribute to those long since past days.  Funny thing, after doing this piece I happened to stop by that old arcade, still there after this many years-guess I wasn't the only kid to waste away their weekends in this way.  But I sat their and played a few games of pinball, and I have to say, although I never was great at the game, this adult cannot hold a candle to that child.  I just wasn't into it and believe me, the memories made me want to be, so badly too.  But change happens, oh well.  I really hope when I'm seventy I don't post that I used to enjoy reading, telling stories and trying to display my thoughts/ideas visually.

Boxing February

Through our lives, we often compartmentalize.  We sort pieces of ourselves and our surroundings into the equivalent of stacks of boxes, sorted in randomness.  The most near, the ones with the highest priorities often are closest to our reach, the others get buried for future recall.  Everyday we add new boxes, which undoubtedly one day, will need to be cleaned.  Until then our minds become storage facilities for unwanted or what we deem as unnecessary memories, or as depicted in this painting closets we simply toss things into, in order to make the room more presentable.