This is the finished portrait STUDY of my friend Mott’s grandson Dylan (the final portrait will be in oils but this one is a study done in my note book in acrylics, with the background still a bit wet):
When springtime brought snowmelt and storms and forecasted floods.
And the salesmen refused to return my frantic calls about flood
Insurance, i threw caution to the April winds and my cat into the river
In my dream and my dreamed-cat swam, caught fish in the rising river,
And ate forever, sleek, fat, and mackerel happy.
It was I, in truth, who was unhappy.
If floods be told as a truth of what matters most,
My cat could fend for herself in most matters
Whether or not she could swim. Her survival drive
Would have propelled her to dry higher ground well before mine
Had woken to any work of emergency leaving.
I wanted what mattered to me most to be believing
That i had something to lose and to lose that,
That belief. Life is the art of leaving all that
We love and what we hate without attaching
To our desire to keep things. Life is flux. But at each thin
Peak between birth and dying, frail weaklings,
How hard we clutch, how fast we cling.