1958

 

 

I was twelve.

 

Johnny’s dad, Karl Seethaler, was an artist.  His works were hanging all over their house, but I didn’t pay any attention to them.  I don’t recall he ever paid any attention to me either.  One day when Karl wasn’t at home though, Johnny and I slipped into his studio so Johnny could show me a painting that his dad had done.  The painting wasn’t framed, it wasn’t on display, Johnny had to flip through paintings leaned against a wall to find it for me to see.  A creature from the imagination.  Not from this world.  It was scary to a young boy.  I’ve never forgotten that painting.

 

Fast forward.  Judy and I were visiting with Kip a month ago.  Johnny had a lot of cool things; handmade instruments or treasured objects.  Before he died, he found homes for most of them.  We and Kip were chatting about the remaining stuff to find homes for.  She mentioned a painting.  “I don’t know what I’m ever going to do with the demon.”

 

The demon?  She has the demon?  Yes.  Whether we have been together or not, Johnny has been with me all my life.  That painting that left a mark on my youth; now I have it too.

 

The Demon is not something I want hanging on the wall of my office to set the tone for the day, but it’s definitely something.