The Meaning Of It All

Kip has lost the skip in his step. Trudging down the street, shoulders hunched, staring straight ahead as if in a trance, so deep in his internal conversation he’d sometimes surprised himself by muttering aloud. “Why did that surprise him? People talk to themselves, don’t they?” he’d ponder.

Kip is an artist. He paints beautiful bizarre images that rarely fail to create a reaction in viewers. People either love them or hate them. And for as long as he has been showing his work, people have asked him the same questions - “what’s the meaning behind your work, what’s the meaning behind this painting, what was your inspiration?” Kip didn’t really know the exact meaning behind any of his work and did the meaning really matter? He was inspired by his life experiences and they transformed into images in his mind and came out through his hand. He liked to create a reaction in people but he wasn’t trying to make a statement with his art or change the world. He just liked to paint cool shit.

“I just like to paint cool shit” didn’t seem like a good enough answer though. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t inspiring. He didn’t want to disappoint people and say “I don’t really know the meaning behind my work, what do you think the meaning is?” He actually thought their interpretations might be more interesting or stupid, depending on the individual. But each time someone would ask him the dreaded question, “what’s the meaning?” he would wax philosophical and spew rhetoric that he thought sounded deep and meaningful. People would nod their heads and furrow their brows, listening intently as if really soaking it all in. Sometimes his mind would wander as he spewed what he thought they wanted to hear, and he himself would wonder “what is the meaning of all this?”  How he just longed to say, “Does it need meaning?”

He had been asked, “What’s the meaning?” so many times that the question had started to take him over. He pondered the meaning of everything so intensely that it became an obsession. He would wonder things such as what it would mean if chose to wear a black shirt instead of a white shirt? What would it mean if he picked the blueberry muffin over the scone?

One day he was walking through the park wondering what it would mean if he picked Chinese food over Italian food when a squirrel ran down a tree and stopped in front of him and just stared at him waving its tail. What did it mean that the squirrel was staring at him? Was the squirrel hungry and hoping he had a nut to offer? Was the squirrel the reincarnation of his Uncle Chip? Uncle Chip had always kind of resembled a squirrel. He waved at the squirrel just in case it was Uncle Chip. The squirrel startled and shot up a tree. What did it mean that the squirrel picked that tree over the one next to it?

These were the kinds of thoughts that enveloped Kip’s mind.

Preparing for his upcoming art show opening party, Kip swirled in quandary. He wondered if it mattered that it was on a Friday night instead of a Saturday? Would more or less people attend? Would people relish changing out of the work clothes and donning their “I’m going to an art show opening” outfits or just wear their work clothes? Would people hang out or just pop in? Would people want snacks or just drinks? Wine and beer or a specialty cocktail? Coke or Pepsi?

Friday night Kip was working his show. He worked the room saying “hello” to people and thought things like “what does it mean to choose ‘hi’ over ‘hello’ or ‘great to see you’ over ‘nice to see you’?” He wandered over to a group of people who were looking at one of his pieces and introduced himself as the artist. Handshakes and cordialities were exchanged and then the question was posed, as he knew it would be. “What is the meaning behind this painting?” Everyone paused and stared at Kip intently as if the meaning of life was about to be revealed. His eyes roamed to the ceiling as he starting his monologue. “My inspiration for this piece stemmed from...” And as soon as he launched the explanation that he felt compelled to come up with, his eyes started wandering the room and wondering the meaning of the various things he saw.

After he had been speaking for a few minutes, he noticed a woman standing at the edge of the group let out a big yawn and walk away. “What was the meaning behind her yawn?” he thought as he continued to speak. Everyone else was looking at him intently and nodding with furrowed brow as they always do. Had she had a really long day and been up late the night before? Had she taken cold medicine that made her drowsy? Or was she bored? He finished his monologue and looked at the group. They all seemed pleased by his explanation.

Kip was still thinking about the woman who had yawned and walked away, so he politely excused himself from the group and slowly walked toward her. The woman had her back to him as she studied one of his paintings. He stood next to her and introduced himself as the artist. She turned towards him and just looked at him. He paused, waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he asked a question he had never asked before. “Would you like to know the meaning behind this painting?” She stared at him for longer than was comfortable then said, “No, because the meaning doesn’t matter. It just is.”

They stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. Kip felt a sense of relief flood over him. “It just is.” It was so simple. They stared at each other a minute longer and then Kip leaned over and lightly kissed the woman whose name he didn’t even know. She stepped back and cocked her head, studying him. Then she said “And I’m not going to ask you the meaning of that either.” Then she smiled, turned and made her way out the door of the gallery. Kip watched her walk away and thought, “It just is.”

On his way home that night Kip had some serious skip in his step. He felt delightfully light as his mind chatter quieted. People in the neighborhood noticed. They wondered, “What’s the meaning behind the new skip in Kip’s step?”

Illustrations by mikewolfart.com