PURRVIS IN THE GARDEN

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Occasionally I feel the urge to just be totally non-ironic, non-self-referential, unselfconscious, etc. There's just no getting around the fact that flowers are pretty. Sometimes you can celebrate pretty, can't you? Wait a minute--I don't have to follow any rules. I'm not in Artists' Local 213. I can do anything I freakin want to do. It's not as if my reputation's going to go down the tubes if I'm caught doing flowers, or that my sales will plummet. Because I'm a relative nobody, I'm free! Yay! Imagine poor Damien Hirst. What if he had an urge to paint a cute picture of a puppy? He couldn't! Not unless he sliced it into sections first. He's on the train, and he can't get off. Sure, the tracks are lined with cheering crowds throwing money at him. But who's the engineer? Meanwhile, here I am sitting in the grass watching the train go by, whistling "Zip-a-dee Doo-dah", looking at the pretty flowers, petting puppies and kittens. Oh, the puppy just peed on my leg! Ha ha ha. Sometimes my metaphors just run away from me.