There’s a certain pride that frequently comes with rebelling against the machine. Yet this impulse comes at the cost of a sense of connectedness.
I work for myself, which means my boss is a real bitch. She makes me work long hours, never likes anything I produce until I’ve revised it a thousand times (and maybe not even then) and, after all that, she’ll hardly ever pay me a compliment or let me relax on vacation. Is this what I signed up for?
One of the problems with narrative thinking is that it asserts a beginning, a middle and an end, mental constructions that cannot be applied to the complicated fabric of Real Life. But, we don’t all agree on the narrative. One person’s climax is another’s lull.
The white of a canvas invites color, to the extent that white doesn’t appear so much as a color as it does a sign of incompleteness. It serves so well as a starting point that it’s hard to remember that white is even a color. Yet, it is a color. Many, in fact.