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Turning I waited at the end of the conveyor belt for the X-ray machine to spit out my pack. Nervously I watched the inspectors face as they watched the monitor. After an agonizing few seconds the belt fed me my pack and boots. They were immediately in my hands as I quickly turned and awkwardly walked away in my socked feet. Just outside of security I stopped to put my boots back on. Me and a dozen other people stood there in our socks redressing ourselves. One asshole puts a bomb in his shoe and now all of us have to look like idiots hopping around on one foot trying to put a shoe on the other. Oh well, that’s a whole other rant. With my boots finally back on I did my best to walk away with grace but that was impossible in these boots. I had specifically bought them several sizes too large so that they would fit the inflators that would soon be added. Done with security I headed straight to the airport tram. I was already in the terminal I would be departing from which was. " He chuckled. "But remember, that was the era of free love. Jane loved a lot of young men." What about her art?" I asked. Jane Wilson, I remembered, had not loved Winn Crane. He was nothing more than some sexy fun and games."She was a good artist. She had perfect command of any media she used, but she wasn't a great artist. You have it in you to be great, young Brent. She did, too, but she chose to stay with the tried-and-true — her landscapes — rather than experiment with any of the new styles of painting that came into vogue during her life. She was a phenomenal colorist, and I believe she could've moved from competent to great with some form of non-objective painting, even micro-landscapes like yours." He gave me a hard look. "So don't squander your talent by becoming complacent. Experiment. Change directions. Grow!" I understand. I started a new direction with my large painting. I made a small move from a micro-landscape toward a microscopic landscape, and I see that direction.
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