Day 7. The Wild Life

“The Wild Life” 4×4, oil on canvas, framed

A few months ago, the New Orleans gallery I signed with asked if I could do my solo show in January. I knew it would be a lot—paired with the 31 in 31—but it was an opportunity I couldn’t resist.

I also knew that if the show was on January 10, I’d need to have everything finished by Christmas and that, theoretically, there would be no issue doing both a 31 and preparing for a large solo show.

We all know how theories tend to go.

There are always things besides painting that go into painting. The show is called Outside the Lines, and many of the titles come from lines of text—some I’ve written myself (poetry), and others I’ve long loved (certain scriptures). In theory, I wanted to write about each piece, or at the very least explain where the title came from.

But I’ve been 31ing. And I may have forgotten just how all-consuming 31ing really is.

One painting in the show is a large, abstracted blue jay. Its title is Wild, Life, and it grew out of a poem I started—one that hasn’t made it past an early draft yet. I’m sharing it here because today’s small painting is a nod to that larger piece in the show.

If you’re in or around New Orleans, I would love to see you there.

Wild, Life

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
—Mary Oliver

I am looking for the wild life:

In the blue feathers of the jay
The black eye mask she
Wears to burglarize
The feeder she somehow
Knows to be freshly full

In the dull knife that
Cuts into a banana as though
It were made of silk,
Tastes like morning

In houses of Other People—
Lives I almost recognize
But wouldn’t know where they
Keep the colander

In your teenage face, curious
How part of me made some of you—
Freckled, exasperated
The same boy counting birds
On covid walks long before
You stopped holding my hand

The more I look, the more even the
Potted fiddle fig seems
Suspicious, as though it’s kin to one
Who lives in the jungle, canopying
Monkeys, harboring perhaps
An invasive species of ant

I sleep between two furry dogs
My fingernails grow back when I clip them
I squeeze lemons—juice comes out
Fire forms when I push a button—
I can run my hand
Through it and not be burned

What then will I do
What then can I do

But watch the blue jay through the window—
A window!
Wild.