Diary,
It's one of those days when life is against you.
The wind is blowing, and the cat is throwing up on the Persian carpet and I missed my wife's birthday and I missed my wife’s birthday because I wanted to paint—yet I lack the inspiration to put feeling into even a few brushstrokes, a few quick ones on the canvas. Am I old-fashioned for not using markers and acrylic pens?
My wife seems exhausted, and the 'baby' cries nonstop; the last time I slept well was in a previous life.
I saw a boat for sale, the seller said it was still good although it had only one oar.

No, sir, it won’t leak, he said it will easily carry you to the other side, you know, at the end of the river where the boatman waits if you pay the toll.

One coin. Cheap, I thought, why not. It is cheaper than taking responsibility for a creation that’s never earned me a cent.

Honey, I called out cheerfully when I got home, waving the property papers. I have a great idea for a painting, come on, no reason to put on a coat, it's sunny and the raging hormones will keep you warm, grab the 'child', I bought a boat.

She stepped in without protest. The 'little one' clung to her chest, silent, as I pushed the boat into the river.

I’ll sketch the scene from the rocks," I shouted after her. "If it goes well, I’ll paint it too!
She lifted her head. For the first time, she looked relieved, then a broad smile appeared as she kicked off her shoes. I heard them splash into the water. It felt like a hand was gripping my heart, but I can't swim, and the river had already the boat in its grip. I ran up the rock where I had left my painting supplies earlier and looked at the scene of my wife holding a cloth and looking serene.
I sketched frantically. Was this a farewell or would she be waiting for me at the end of the river in a less picturesque scene?
Her dress glistened in the sun as my pencil flew across the paper to sketch the view, the rocks, the river, the light and the boat that I had not yet paid off with my wife perfectly reflected in the water. For a moment, the boat seemed to stand still, or was it the time that made me realize that action was more powerful than words:
I’ll remain faithful even when things go wrong. I nodded. I'd kept my only real promise: the one I’d made to my easel and brushes. I raised my hand that held the pencil to measure the distance, but the woman in the boat had disappeared. Only a bottle floated. I didn’t paint it. It would’ve ruined the composition of the woman who voluntarily got into the boat to her final destination.

I stayed until night fell and saw a woman on the beach accompanied by a cat she called Devil. She threw bottles into the river, each one following the flow of the river.

Diary, I’ve found my inspiration again. Fear and loss are fertile ground for art and when I don't know what to paint again, there are always more people.

_{27.3.25
Painting: Woman in a Boat - public domain
Painter: Pekka Halonen
Contest: Art & Writing by @solperez see here}