About Me

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My work is the fruit of who I am. Does not matter if I like it or not, I am an artist. It comes from an intrinsic need..it is my imagination pulsing to come alive... I create an image and call that the essence of my soul and allege that it is just enough to explain everything else in my whole life. Now at this stage of my existence, I am far away from the time when these things may caused me embarrassment. What? An artist? What do you mean by that? I mean an artist, just an artist It is simple like that.

Friday, April 30, 2010

A Stranger Of Mine

This amazing man is a stranger of mine. We crossed each other’s path a while ago and stayed in each other’s life for about 30 seconds. An intricate sequence of events brought that man and I to be at same spot, at the same time, in that fresh morning. It was like a masterpiece of coordination between the universe and us.
We were at the Boston Marathon among hundreds of people and in a glance of a corner I saw the unusual. I was instantly attracted to him and in an inexplicable move I asked for a picture_ Sir, please can I take a picture with you? We did not look at each other eyes and never touched each other hands but he stopped his life for a bit of a fraction and posed with me.
I want to make the whole thing very special. Amused by the fact that this fellow had dressed up with the purpose of calling my attention I will let him know that I liked it. He had the courage to go out with that groovy outfit, crazy enough to open the doors of his personal space to strangers like me.
I had this desire to spend at least five minutes with every person in the world, I did not spent it with this one but I will treasure our little gathering forever. Now looking at this picture, I like to imagine how his face was when he was just a baby; the happiness of his mother upon bearing him and looking at his eyes for the first time. I like to think that once he was cute and innocent, then he grew older to be a boy, that liked so much to play with friends, liked long walks at the park and had a pounding heart at Christmas mornings.
I visualize him seating in a chair, at the porch, looking at the stars.
I get emotional grasping about the first time he felt in love, and I worry if he ever suffered for that or, if he had his dear heart broken in one way or another…Of course all this is just my fantasy trying to nurture a relationship that never happened.
Forgetting the past, I am wondering if there is hope in his heart, and how is he doing in the present century. I would love to know if he dares to speak to the Lord and if he is able to hear the Lord’s voice back…
Because of the brevity of our encounter, I will never get to know which colors he prefers, what kind of movies he enjoys; what makes him laugh and if I could making him emotional baking a chocolate cake for the special occasion of his birthday.
There is nothing more to this story, this is the strange of my, whose death I will never know about and that never will cry for me when my times to pass will come.
Nice to meet you Mr. Stranger ...I have regretted though, that I had not asked your name.