Saturday a few weeks ago, we concluded that a day trip was in order.
In Winter Park, Florida, an artistic traveling event had caught our fancy. Yoko Ono has gathered up her late husband’s art and put together an ensemble honoring his audacious genius at plundering the depths of his love and devotion to Yoko and his son Sean. John was an accomplished artist, before, during and after his Beatling adventures.
We ambled enthralled through the exhibit. Both his original penned song lyrics and his Impressionistic ink and pen drawings drifted by our eyes. Beatles songs warbled quietly in the background.
Then I stopped. Flourishing lines coalesced into a deep peaceful pastoral scene of Yoko propped under a tree and John resting his head in her lap. Both were posed in rapturous adoration and completeness in each other. A sob caught in my throat as I reminisced of a time with my departed Jodi so much like this vivid depiction before me, us relaxing at the beach with my head next to my beloved wife now gone these six years. John’s art had gripped the ardor and oneness I had with Jodi. I thought how I would in an instant give up years of my life to have just a half-hour more with her once again.
It takes a tremendously talented artist like John Lennon to reach into my inner soul and touch the pain and joy of our everlasting union. John’s art style was very much like Jodi’s art, showing the joy she had for her life.