It’s not that I don’t admire and respect visual artists.
Sometimes I do nothing but sit out on my front porch and admire and respect visual artists all day long.
But yeah. I guess I mostly think that if you’ve got a story to tell, words are a better medium--says the person who doesn’t draw or paint.
Still. I wish I could take up a box of colored pencils (the really expensive kind that real artists use) and create a portrait of TRQ as she appeared to me on a recent trip to San Francisco.
She was lying on the bed in the hotel she’d accidentally booked for us instead of the more upscale hotel where she usually likes to stay. She looked all languid, sprawled as she was with an excess of pillows, reading her Book of Mormon which she has read without fail every night of her life ever since she decided to get serious about the Gospel. Outside, a noisy recycling truck rattled down the street.
“Honey,” said my mother, exhibiting absolutely no inclination to move, let alone run for cover, “I think those are gunshots outside. Wanna take a look for me?”
When I was a kid I was always annoyed by TRQ's penchant for the dramatic. She could (and still can!) see disaster looming around every corner. Now, it amuses me—especially because of how calm she stays in the face of the crises she invents. Seriously, DO NOT expect her to get the hell out of the way of gunfights on the streets of San Francisco once she’s all comfy, reading her scriptures and thinking about breaking open that box of Sees candy by her bedside.
Are you getting the picture here? A real picture could capture all of this way better than mere words.
By the way, I texted my brother with this information, who immediately shot (ha!) back, “Since when did SF start arming it’s recycling trucks?”
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