By David Malcolm Rose
Several years ago, my son came home from school with an observation. It was probably junior high because they had been studying WWII. At any rate, he informed me that Hitler had been a failed artist.
“Just like you.” He said, and then quickly added. “All in all, I think you’ve handled it much better than he did.”
So, even on days when there seems to be nothing else in my credit column, I have that going for me. I’ve never invaded sovereign nations or engaged in genocide. Like all artists, I began my career running behind the pack, the taste of dust in my mouth. I gained ground and got a glimpse of the ones leading the pack.
It took me weeks to finish a painting, while the big-time artists were knocking off a canvas in an afternoon and then spending the rest of their time ginning up a verbal defense for their minimal effort. Many were hiring others to do the work for them. I didn’t have the candlepower under my hat to get into that arena.
Then, one day, I saw David Byrne on a talk show. The host asked him about his words, which seemed at times not to make sense. A rather odd question, considering Byrne and the Talking Heads produced an album and a documentary movie entitled Stop Making Sense. Byrne patiently explained to the man that there were limits to rational thought.
I’m not sure what the host thought of that, but a light bulb went on over my head. I had been letting my brain run the game when I should have been listening to my heart. I kept my head in the driver’s seat but started to let my heart read the map and chart the course. In due time, I found myself reveling across open pastures with no idea or interest in where the rest of the herd had gotten to.
David Rose, of Hot Springs, is an author and artist.
