Dear Abstract Painting,

Where are you and why have you forsaken me so? I noticed only recently that the last month of blog posts have pictures of representational images, mostly of abandoned empty pools, signifying decay and loss and death, along with iPhone drawings of objects in my life, depicting the passage of time. You, Abstract Painting, are nowhere to be found. I went back 31 days. Nada.

You were about the journey. We never knew where we'd wind up. Then without warning, you duck out of the studio like a fair-weathered friend. I suppose I can't call you a fair-weathered friend. You've been there for close to 25 years minus that little 9-year affair I had with video in the 90's. I thought you were a has-been, but when the conversations with video became shallow and strained, you were there and open for discussion. I don't know what I expected you to do. You must have seen it coming. There were signs- like photographs, for instance.

You've obviously had enough of the garish colors, the odd juxtapositions, the this, the that. It's tough always being on the road. I know you're tired. We worked hard together. Sure, I pushed you, but we made some friends, saw some places. It was good, but there was always the self-doubt that we couldn't communicate effectively or that we didn't put out. I thought scaling down might give us both a rest, but even then, I relentlessly pushed you to to stand your own ground. We even read John Ruskin together. Good Times, Abstract Painting, Good Times.

Don't blame yourself. It was me. I wanted to simplify my life. Less mess, more directness, less chaos, and how about an end in sight? Remember those four days I spent in Santa Rosa a few years ago? It was with a plein air workshop. I said I needed it in order to teach a class. It was just a few landscapes, but maybe that was the beginning of looking for something more tangible, more secular. I forgot about it. They didn't mean anything, but you must have known I was sketching in my watercolor book. Let's not pretend I wasn't looking at the real world.

And then I saw The Pool. I see it in the distance every year, of course, but that time it was different. We were close. I can't explain. I mean, for 12 years, it was almost the first thing I saw every morning, so when I saw a bamboo tree growing out of it, it hit me: time really is going in one direction and everything is temporary. I thought I got it out of my system with one painting, but a year later, there were three more. Then the iPhone sketches. I kept meaning to get back to you. I promise. I didn't mean to turn my back. I didn't mean all those things I said about not finding you compelling anymore. That was the linseed oil talking. I stood by you when people called you "decorative." I defended your right to look good, even though we both couldn't stand design. Remember how we used to mock design? That was fun. Sure, some people thought we were just slinging paint, but we didn't care. We had a mission. I enjoyed our conversations. Remember how I always compared our sessions to a good game of chess? I would mention that photograph of Duchamp playing chess, and then I remembered that he stopped painting, so I didn't bring it up as often. I miss you Abstract Painting, but I respect your need to lay low while I see other styles for a bit, and explore some things you might consider too traditional. It's okay. I trust you'll come back when the time is right. In the meantime, feel free to help yourself to anything in the studio.

Love,

MAH