Yesterday, I hung a new painting on the Wall.  Pink and magenta blots among cerulean swirls. The 6 foot giant canvas jutted out of the long, gray monster, next to two high titanium ladders and a wobbly wooden one. Right smack in the middle of the muted world. 

The hems of my yellow silk skirt collected concrete dust as I bravely stepped past the line of ladders and up to the Wall.  As the people on the Wall gathered about to sneer and snicker, I hung it by myself, standing my ground in my sturdy souled shoes, with nothing but a hammer, a step stool, and long silver nails designed to last. 

I call this painting Wonder, and created it just for this spot. A few weeks back, I saw a Short Waves report about the latest fingernail scratching on the leaden, slate Wall. I couldn't get the sound out of my mind.  It was a common scenario. One fist clamped to their ladder, the other clawing at their neighbor as they tried pushing them off in order to get to the top. The sound of fingernails and the ladder scraping on the slate was excruciating. 

"Today in this very busy bee self-consuming modern day superficial world of instant gratification and wanna-bees, there's a buzz of belonging to another world. The few who already belong to this world make it seem so simple and effortless, as if they are just naturally there. These are the bees who live their dreams and are often noticed by the masses, with some even changing the course of history.  

And so it's no wonder that many bees desperately seek this other world. Yet they seem to be constantly bumping against it like a window, seeing exactly where they want to go in plain sight - right there on the other side of this invisible barrier - but unable to get there.