He dreams of progress. He has wide-awake visions of little brown girls and boys who live out their unlimited potential. He can tease out the beautiful intricacies of complex equations and somehow make them seem like art. Africa curls out of his scalp and the middle passage is a hallway he swam through to get here. The cicada whispers in his ear that rebirth is his middle name.
The cicada on his chest flew into this painting of its own accord. I was painting on the front porch of a cabin on Murrells Inlet, where I was staying for a while. Suddenly I heard a loud thump. Getting up to explore the noise, I discovered this cicada bug, almost the size of my palm. He was very still. I thought, at first, that it had died, but when I reached down it stepped onto my hand. I set him at the base of my bamboo plant and he obligingly allowed me to photograph him. If he wanted to be in this painting, who was I to ignore him! Doing some research I discovered that the cicada is the symbol of rebirth and renewal. It couldn't have been more perfect!
The cicada on his chest flew into this painting of its own accord. I was painting on the front porch of a cabin on Murrells Inlet, where I was staying for a while. Suddenly I heard a loud thump. Getting up to explore the noise, I discovered this cicada bug, almost the size of my palm. He was very still. I thought, at first, that it had died, but when I reached down it stepped onto my hand. I set him at the base of my bamboo plant and he obligingly allowed me to photograph him. If he wanted to be in this painting, who was I to ignore him! Doing some research I discovered that the cicada is the symbol of rebirth and renewal. It couldn't have been more perfect!