A photo of the studio corner I took a few minutes ago. The art is piling up. My work combined with Dante's. A father-daughter pair of creative types.
"I can't be with men unless they're doing something creative," she said to me yesterday.
"I know. It's nearly impossible otherwise."
If they're not creative they have to be either extremely rich or very beautiful. Maybe that might work for artists. Maybe not. Both my daughter and I try to figure out our possible romantic ideals. Then we discuss reality. Being single isn't perfect, but it beats being with someone who bores the hell out of you.
A creative person is never bored by solitude. Most of the time solitude can feel like heaven on earth. If you're a genuine artist.
My grandson is puzzled by the girls he meets. "He says no girl thinks he's good looking. I tell him I never had boyfriends when I was his age," Dante said.
We're slow to mature. Our family. It has its advantages and drawbacks. Give him time. He's going to have his day in the sun. Everyone does. His fifteen minutes. Or longer. His mother wonders what it takes for a young boy to be liked by girls.
"He needs to go insane," I said. "That was the way I ended up with girls. Until I became a lunatic nothing happened for me." I recall going completely crazy over girls. At least that worked. But it's certainly not not the advice today I'd give to a young man. God, what a life! Madness. Sheer madness.
