I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what’s unsaid, what’s underneath. Understanding on another level of being.
I always seemed to be in the right place at the wrong time.
I did have a couple of people asking me to illustrate their MC in a hope to widen the exposure, unfortunately the messages weren't a good fit, so I couldn't oblige. And I didn't really want to become a matchmaking service. Someone posted a missed connection "I like your blog" which was directed at me... that was kind of fun to stumble across.
On the other hand, I'm drawn to top hats, and spats, and mustaches. I haven't read a Missed Connection yet with someone wearing a monocle, but rest assured I'll snap it up if I do.
I toyed with making portraits based on people's discarded shopping lists found on the street, or old diaries bought on eBay, or other forms of borrowed stories. When I stumbled across the Missed Connections listings, I knew immediately I'd found it.
Someone wrote to me asking me to illustrate a missed connection that "hasn't happened yet." This guy has seen the same girl waiting at a bus stop on his morning commute for weeks, and has been trying to find a way to approach her. He thought it would be fun to put up a Missed Connections poster [of my painting] on the corner where she waits and see what happens. It is kind of an intriguing idea but there's something a bit too manipulative about it for my liking. It's a fine line between being creative and stalking!
A landline is an anchor - busy signals, long distance bills, missed connections and all.
Unfortunately, being physically equipped to hear has little to do with the actual predilection to listen. Sharing a common tongue does not ensure earnest or successful communication. Missed connections occur among hearing people all the time, splitting open countless minor chasms and yawning gulches, fissures that no vaccine or technilogical advance will ever be able to mend or prevent. That task will always fail to us.
The joy of art is particularly sweet, though, because it carries with it the threat of rejection, of failure, and of missed connections. It's precisely the high-wire act of "this might not work" that makes original art worth doing.
No one was to blame for what happened, but that does not make it any less difficult to accept. It was all a matter of missed connections, bad timing, blundering in the dark. We were always in the right place at the wrong time, the wrong place at the right time, always just missing each other, always just a few inches from figuring the whole thing out. That's what the story boils down to, I think. A series of lost chances. All the pieces were there from the beginning, but no one knew how to put them together.
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