the artist’s life

I feel it more than I can deny it. It is in my bones, my muscles, in the number of things I have accumulated in my house. I think about death. I look back on my life and realize that I have advanced past the age to fulfill a lot of dreams. It's almost too late. Every time I realize it is my experience that makes me wiser I am confronted with it. I am getting old. Sometimes when I say: I am getting old I wonder if I should correct myself. Should I be saying: I am old? Should I just get real …