At the end of Junior
Year of high school, I tried to paint a single chess piece on a checkerboard on half of a canvas. I had a lot of fun painting the board, but when I showed my teacher the lonely piece, he didn’t understand what I was trying to do. He didn’t understand my checkered reality. At the time I was suspicious that he just couldn’t understand my artistic vision. But then I realized that the best of visions, when poorly presented, are worth little.
Somewhere, the half finished painting is sitting squashed between two other mostly finished paintings. I suppose I could dig it out from beneath a pile of dust, but I would much rather begin it again than continue where I had left off.
March 17
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