The Artist: The Later Years

[edsiejka]

The Artist: The Later Years
by Edmund Siejka
(companion piece to The Artist published March 28, 2013)

He hadn’t sold anything
In a long time
Arms crossed
He scrutinized the paintings
Displayed in the
Most modern of modern Chelsea galleries.

Behind him
A small group of artists
Discussed art
Glasses of wine held subtly in their animated hands
He nodded
Only one in the group
Nodded back.

Something bothered him
Pressing down on his shoulders
It was then he left
As quietly as he came.

Walking downtown
Collar up
The wind whipped through his jacket
At 8th Avenue
Along a row
Of cheap buildings
Off 14th Street
He found a coffee shop
Not wanting coffee he walked in anyway
Hoping that since he didn’t know anyone
He would be in a public place
But would have all the privacy he needed.

Sitting at the counter
He felt someone touching his shoulder
He turned
To face a Kid
In his early twenties
Tall
Brown hair
Even features
Good bone structure
Curious eyes
Strong hands
Paint splattered jeans.

Are you an artist? The Kid asked
He was tempted to tell the Kid to go out and play in traffic
But the honesty in the voice
Was convincing
“I thought so” the Kid said
The Times did a retro on artists of the 70’s”
The Kid looked closer
“Except for the white hair you haven’t changed that much
In my art class they still mention you”.

There was something bold
Yet real about the Kid
Grabbing a corner booth
They discussed art
He giving pointers
About the New York art scene.

Returning home
The Artist passed under the Dome of St. George
Strong and defiant in the afternoon sun
Taking a deep breathe
He went upstairs to his studio slash apartment
There was an empty canvas
Waiting
A north light
Beckoned
Holding brushes in his hand
He was an artist once again.

[saw]

seems most artists are tormented by the question, what am I doing ?....is this a waste of time, am I kidding myself ?.....anguish and brushes are bedfellows....inspiration is a fleeting shadow that teases the easel, then vanishes into the night....love/ hate/ in between

nice little story about the creative process ...that feels true