Some people never change. OK, I never change.
I remember one particularly heated conversation about art. I was 19 and preparing for my first trip to New York city. My companion, a musician, and I were walking along a Midwestern city street gesticulating to one another, carried away by the force of our ideas.
I explained that my highest goal was to paint the truth of someone doing something simple, like walking along the street. I told him I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful, more mysterious, or more fascinating.
I still feel exactly that way!
I am still guided by that same feeling; still riveted by the same mystery.
Anyway, as I was heatedly gesticulating, I walked directly into a lamppost and nearly knocked myself out. It might sound like a prank but I assure you it was not.
My companion was gracious enough not to show any pleasure at my pratfall. I can’t remember much of what he said but he predicted he would join me in New York soon. And he did. I watched him play his own songs at Gerdes Folk City (of blessed memory) the following year.