No Masks

It's been a busy weekend. Friday night started at the Houston Grand Opera. It was a work by Handel, Xerxes. I went with friends and we gathered here, at my apartment, for a late-late recap of the evening, filled with laughter and some serious talk, as well. I woke up three hours later to walk in a cancer fundraiser with office-mates and came home to fall into bed for a few hours. It was then off to a gallery tour.

I purchased a painting yesterday. It's by Houston artist, Patrick Palmer. The title is "Tribal Mask and Spirits, II". I've admired Mr. Palmer's works for some time, visiting his studio space, not thinking I could/would make the leap from visitor to collector. I'd never taken the initiative to speak with him before, although I'd walked through his space at least a half dozen times. Yesterday I felt a strong pull toward one of his paintings and decided I wanted to have it for my own. He told me what it means to him, and I'm so happy to have it.

Winding down at dinner last night, I was able to tell two of my best friends just how tired and confused I remain about relationships between men and women that go beyond friendship. It's fitting because the painting is really all about that, per Mr. Palmer. He included what he calls his "Latin" in it. It's a made-up language, barely visible, that represents the words we say to each other that aren't heard. He told me the painting is about balance between men and women, but he felt women had a better grasp on that (balance), in general. I'm not so sure.

Anyway...it's nice not to wear a mask, not to have false language, to be myself - and I love the painting. During times when I'm fatigued by enjoyable activities with people I love, I sleep better and I feel a sense that I'm wrapped in a blanket of caring. This is a protection - not a defense. There is such a difference between the two.