He is looking over at me, giving me the eye, flirting with a cheeky grin. Speaking the only language that he as learned so far. Tongue out, arms out reached, light grunting; my baby says "food."
As I have found particularly evident from using so much Skype lately, there is so much language outside of words. I had a long conversation with my new baby son on a walk today, about how best to live in this new world I brought him to. We talked about how deal with fear and how to live a satisfied life. A conversation that was much more real than I often have with words.
From above, behind a dark mat of ivy a dog barked, big and throaty. Behind dimmed sunlight and black railings. His coat liver gray and shinny. A look of worry darted across little Winston's wrinkling brow, he jerked his arms. His wide open eyes staring into mine for a place to hide. I smiled at him; bright squeaks of surprise and fun, a warm wide coo of support.
A yelp of boredom answered with a breath of breeze and the dappling of light across closed eyes. The baby is learning self satisfaction of a good suck on a pacifier.
I had a similar discussion of non verbal communication in this painting.
Like notes dancing across sheets of music, the black daubs of paint play across the background striations of paint. This piece is called The Language of Long Lingering Looks and is an essay of all the non verbal communication of a night in a bar.
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