In the stillness of a summer morning, the city slowly wakes up. Ready for a leisurely drive, a 1967 Corvette, and 1960 Chevy, while their owners grab the supplies for trip ahead. The last vestiges of. peace, and innocents before their owners would be shipped off to the horrors of a war they did not create under the guise of protecting freedom. Their prized possessions sit on blocks in their parents garage, for their sons who would never return. Their fathers and mothers would one day drive them, to in some way feel close to the sons they so dearly loved.I was fortunate to come home, but so many of my friends did not, and I was witness to their parents grief. And, it would always bring me to tears.
This is why art is an expression, not simply the painting of things.