3,965,000 people were born in the U.S. in the year of my birth.\u00a0 About half of them were males.\u00a0 About half of those have since died.\u00a0 That leaves me, and one million other men.<\/p>\n
______<\/p>\n
On my 62nd birthday, my wife and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants. It was a Friday, the thirteenth day of the month.\u00a0 The Mega Millions numbers were 8, 22, 30, 42, 45 and 3.\u00a0 No one won.<\/p>\n
______<\/p>\n
Richard Barton Freeman<\/a>, born the same day I was, died in October 1972 in South Vietnam when his helicopter was shot down, exactly five months into his tour.\u00a0 He was not even 20.\u00a0 Neither was I.\u00a0 Our military draft lottery number was drawn February 2, 1972.\u00a0 It was 244.\u00a0 Neither of us had to go.\u00a0 But Freeman did.\u00a0 Had I been drafted, I would have emigrated to Canada.\u00a0 Otherwise, I would be dead.<\/p>\n ______<\/p>\n I am 62.\u00a0 I am now more or less free from having to sell myself.\u00a0 I no longer need to walk fine lines around my principles to please others or worry about how I portray myself.\u00a0 My professional reputation is history — I do not need a new one.<\/p>\n One thing I will not do is adopt an artist persona.<\/em>\u00a0 An artist persona<\/em> is an imaginary being conjured up in the typical artist statement, a person who sees things others do not, thinks things others cannot, and exists only to express his or her deep connection with the natural order of things and to finally share such riches with you, the art buyer he or she hopes to impress and thereby achieve his or her self-validation.<\/p>\n As I said, I am more or less free from having to sell myself.\u00a0 I breathe freely.<\/p>\n ______<\/p>\n Many years ago, I discovered that I am the plagiarist son of novelist Kurt Vonnegut, the weary optimist who wrote about the absurdity of life and human behavior but ultimately decided that his fellow travelers were too charming to fail.\u00a0 But fail they did.\u00a0 So it goes.<\/p>\n ______<\/p>\n Some days I cannot help but wonder whether I am making the most of life.\u00a0 I have learned that I am not an entrepreneur.\u00a0 I am never going to have an art business with hundreds of followers and great demand for my paintings.\u00a0 Instead, I will paint some quirky paintings, each new one as different from the last as I can manage, and someday I will put them up for sale in the local vendor mall.\u00a0 I do not have the energy, the optimism or the hunger of your thirty-year-old Etsy artist.\u00a0 I am not too charming to fail.<\/p>\n ______<\/p>\n I know.\u00a0 I could get up at 6:55 am and brew a pot of coffee.\u00a0 By 7:20 am I would be heading out the door to shoot photos of foggy mountain scenery.\u00a0 I’d park the car at 8:55 am and walk into my graphics arts class.\u00a0 After class, I would drive home and pull weeds in the garden until 11:33 am.\u00a0 Then my wife and I would watch The Price is Right<\/em> while eating leftovers from last night’s dinner.\u00a0 At 12:30 pm, I would head downstairs to my studio and paint for a couple of hours to the background music of 1990s angst-ridden female singer-songwriters.\u00a0 I would pause at 2:15 pm for my daily Twitter post, then return to painting.\u00a0 At 2:50 pm, I would walk over to my computer and put the finishing touches on my latest multi-track recording.\u00a0 That would take me to 4:00 pm, giving me an hour or so to read that World War I book I’ve been meaning to finish since 2011.\u00a0 I would put the book down at 5:12 pm and make martinis.\u00a0 My wife and I would then sit down in front of the television and cue up the famous scene<\/a> from Goodfellas<\/i> where Ray Liotta races through another of his coke-soaked days to the tune of\u00a0“Jump Into the Fire” while an ominous helicopter tracks his every move.<\/p>\n Ah, the restless artist’s life.<\/p>\n ______<\/p>\n It is a cold, dark sea we swim through, plucking and admiring the bright pearls we find here and there along the way, helping us ignore the patches of blackness beyond.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 3,965,000 people were born in the U.S. in the year of my birth.\u00a0 About half of them were males.\u00a0 About half of those have since died.\u00a0 That leaves me, and one million other men. ______ On my 62nd birthday, my … Continue reading