What my readers confided as vague, I say is opaque. To be clear, I know opaque means a lack of clarity, or should I say impenetrable by light; but when I say opaque it is the same for when I say defecate in place of deprecate. It’s funny that way. So to clear up my opaque vagueness, or to make my vagueness opaque I say we spend too much time trying to categorize. We spend far too much time wanting to fit each other into a pristine little package that when our ideals are not met we point fingers and say, “you’re wrong; their wrong; everything is wrong.” And yes I do it, too. In fact I find pleasure in it. But I don't think that my reasons are the same as others. I like imperfection. I like it when others have to furrow their brows to understand. But I hate the dismissal of this piece of humanity. I hate the attack, the, you meant this; but you said this; so you are this. My wife knows of what I speak, and I think she loves me for it.
My boys have spent the day exploring shapes and colors for
an established, local art fair. One drew a bat; the other a spider. The artist
of the bat screamed for perfection and practiced to make it so. The creator of
the spider gave his creature a hundred legs easy, and the web became so dark
and thick that no spider could be seen. When asked he said, “the spider is in
there you just can't see him.” Simple, true, opaque vagueness, beautiful in his
own right. My only fear is that his visual perception will be smashed for the sake
of perfection. For the older boy once drew for expression, but now seeks only perfection.
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