"Hanging out" - by Kerry Hallam

It is a sobering thought that there are to date the better part of twelve thousand of my paintings hanging out on walls around the world. They were born, toddled, stumbled, fell and finally, after all the turmoil and tears, grew up and walked out the door with a promise to do well and behave themselves. Be a credit to the family. They are leading their own lives now free of the constricting demands of home and the claustrophobic, possessive love of their creator. Most have done alright for themselves. They grace the rooms of royalty, the mansions of nobility, the quarters of the privileged and ordinary family rooms in the suburbs, next to the TV and the photos of the kids and a departed uncle in Army uniform. They're splattered all over the globe - bless their cotton socks - but I have kept track of some.
A dazzling landscape of rich Provencal tapestry gazes down daily on a beautiful woman who stole my heart and with whom I languished in the luxury of love for a while years ago when the world was young. Others hang with friends who who view them as a solace, a reassurance, a comfort. They are gifts, tokens of respect and affection. Well balanced pieces. An aging actress Paris, long retired and holding on to the shreds of fame, treasures the painting as she does her past.
Sol, in his small apartment on the upper west side, wonders if he will ever finish his screenplay and searches the painting's brushwork for an answer. He thought he had it once. The large mansion in Palm Beach houses several works from one of my more ambitious periods. From the very start they were destined to become part-timers. Three months out of the year they are dusted off, see the light of day, and watch local society gather to show off its jewelry, caviar, wine and hollow voices that are loud and empty. A very brief and dubious moment of glory. In the meticulous house in Tokyo the small, exquisitely framed jewel is treated with awed respect. It is bowed to each morning because it is worthy. That one I'm proud of! There's a TV station in the U.K. that has one as a backdrop for the evening news program. Now that's exposure. Bit over the top I think, but not all bad. There's a truck driver who has one hanging in the back of the cab of his eighteen wheeler where he sleeps on long runs. Than one always did have the urge to travel. Itchy feet. Loved to dance. Candice, the gorgeous stripper from Mobile, keeps the nude by her bed so that she will remember how it was.
I always had problems making them realize the need to be multilingual, cosmopolitan, universal. You can't just sit on the back stoop if you want to get anywhere, do anything, amount to something. On the whole, they do a good job in a hard world. I can't grumble. But I still worry about them.
Over the years I fashioned them, forged them on the clattering anvil, gave them blazing life and golden luster, breathed spirit and gusto into their warp and weft and in doing, so transferred a sliver of my soul.