the empty canvas of appreciation

The paper has been signed. Sometime today if the Judge is willing to take care of the last of this years business, the legal papers will be stamped, and the marriage will be over.

It was over in heart over a long time ago. To that I had surrendered and accepted. The surface level of appreciation was there, loyal & bold in statement. But the actions long since vanished, and the level of affection was a shallow pool of empty gestures. In business our relationship continued & thrived in different & more cooperative ways. At home the relationship shifted to one of total disproportions. As if the same man was unaware of the same woman in two locations. He had compartmentalized the activities and I being the adaptable being had readily obliged.

At the studio & gallery where I worked every day I was his wonderful wife. The woman that made all these things possible, at home I was the failing flawed house wife that neglected all her duties all day long & bothered him by making noise when he come home each day to lie down & relax after a hard days painting. It was just over a year ago when I concluded that I love the artist but not the husband. I probably would have been quite happy to have worked for him, as long as I came home alone to my home. But at my home was this man, always relaxing, always hungry, always wanting entertainment & company.
Unaware of the daily chores of living. Unaware of where all the fixings of the home came from. Unaware of mans basic need to participate in life, as the days of slavery were over. We had no maid or missy to cook, clean, wash wax and whisk the world into order.

There is much to be said for talent. When you can preform magic on canvas the way the painter did, you can part the waters of obstacles that others would never achieve. To have the power of the pen to scribble on a napkin & watch someone walk away with a frame able treasure. Very few people possess that power. Caught under the spell as I was for over a decade, the many frame able works soon offer hollow gratitude and no measure of compensation for an empty world of appreciation.