Last day at the Levee

I finished the painting this weekend. I thought I was done on Saturday, but then realized that I hadn’t signed my name. And somebody told me the trout needed spots. I thought it over and went to the levee one more time.

When I got there, there was a woman struggling with the lock. I got out of my truck and showed her the trick to lifting the weight off the chain. It sort of made me laugh to myself because the first time I had to deal with the lock, I was near tears. It turned out that she was starting to prime the square right next to mine. Her first day and my last day. I was super glad to be on the other end of the job, than where she was.

I repainted the fisherman because he had a few different shades on him from the purple rain fiasco; I touched up some of the outline around the fish, and I added some spots. I tried to add the number of spots in my dad’s name, my three uncles who were (or are) fisherman, my cousin, and my grandpa, but I don’t think I got the right number because it didn’t look right to me, so I had to add a few more spots, but the spots are for them. Then I put on my fishing vest with the zippers, zipped in my cell phone and repelled to the bottom of the mural and signed my initials and then took a few photos.

When I rode my bike around to take pictures, I went the long way so I could see the mile of murals. There are about twenty paintings now, a lot more than when Maria and I first came upon them in June. I got to mine and took a couple of photos and then rode across the footbridge and up to my truck. Then I didn’t know what to do. Usually, I leave then. But it felt wrong to me. I finished this great big project and what? Just drive away? So I sat at the top and enjoyed being done.

I’ve been trying to figure out what comes next in my life. Not like next in what project I’m going to do, but next in my life. Like act two. I’ve been doing some reflecting on the “why.” I always thought writing was my jam, but I’m wondering about that more and more. Writing is like my soul, my breath. Art is like my playground, my renewal. This mural was one of the hardest things I have ever done, mostly because of the physical aspect of it, but also because of the size. It made me realize that my art is still growing and I’m still learning and changing and I have no idea where that will take me.

In some ways, getting up in the dark and driving to the levee, putting on my gear, and descending a concrete wall has given me confidence and purpose in ways that I didn’t have before. Does that mean I want to do it again? I don’t know. For now I am going to celebrate that it’s finished and trust that I’m on the path to the next leg of the journey.