The road sign is cut off, incomplete. If unbroken, it would read “Menaik Road”. I’ve passed by this road a hundred times on my way back to Edmonton from the south, and one day, I might just slow down and turn the wheel, and see what lies down that path. One day. Words we all say, and it’s like a nice cushion to rest our heads upon, a balm to soothe us. But the truth is, we don’t know for sure if that day will come. Oh, it will come for someone! But maybe not for you, maybe not for me. After all, we have only so much time.
So why don’t I just take that road? Because I don’t know it. I don’t know where it will lead. A map might give me markers, but it can never detail my destination.
I’m speaking around this painting. I realize that. There are those who will clearly see the symbols, and divine a meaning, or a hundred meanings. There are some things you can say, and some things you can’t. The words stop, the tongue sticks and it all just stops.