July 23, 2011

I Have a Sad Story to Tell You

I was in the studio spray painting something today. I had the exhaust fan on. I didn't spray that much. Maybe 5 minutes, maybe seven. After spraying, I saw that I had neglected to hook my motorcycle up to it's trickle charger. As I was connecting the charging system, I heard a flapping sound, but it didn't quite register until I realized it was a large flapping sound, like one Mothra might make. I backed away from the bike and noticed on the other side of the bike there was a butterfly or killer moth on the ground unsuccessfully trying to take flight. His wing span was maybe about 4 inches. It's hard to say because rigor mortise has now set in and I can't straighten him out. I picked him up while he was trying to get off the ground and felt guilty, wondering if the fumes had crippled him. I opened the garage door and set him in the driveway. He was trying harder to take flight, furiously flapping, making some small take-offs, but mostly just trying really hard to leave the ground, over and over. I have tried to identify him to no avail. In a rare instance of not having my iPhone with me, I left him so that I could retrieve my phone and take his picture. When I returned, he was dead. Exhausted, I suppose.

The more I think about it, the more I don't think I killed him with the fumes. For one thing, he was already on the floor. I think he was too heavy to fly. The fumes may have done him in, but I don't think so. He still had his caterpillar body and was top heavy. By the time rigor mortise set in, he tilted down head first, like a heavy statue that toppled down. He's in my studio now. It was hard to watch him be so desperate for flight. I thought he was going to make it. I really did.
Just expired.

Totally top-heavy and stiff a few minutes later. 

Today I packed paintings for shipping them to the Asynchronous Salon show in Indianapolis.  I ate too much sugary stuff because I had to bribe myself. Packing works is NOT that big of a deal. I don't know why I perceive it to be one of the most loathed tasks of my job. It's not. No matter, I get fidgety and anxious and have to have treats and coffee nearby. It went smoothly of course, but I took breaks.

I tried to paint. I made several futile attempts. I tried painting the dog, and I tried painting the butterfly. Hashtag Fail on both accounts. Distracted. Stuck.

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