Outsourcing the Sun

I'm painting buildings in town
and I want dramatic light
and shadows in my compositions.

So here I am
waiting for sunny weather,
driving around town
at different times of day
until I find the right time
for a north-facing house
to cast its shadows
to my liking.

I could take a picture in any lighting
and have AI change the light source.
It would work well enough.
But then I wouldn't be driving this morning
with the real sun in my human eyes.

I'd miss the glow
of the spring grass
around the gravestones
in the early morning.
I'd miss the warmth of high noon
and the serenity of sunset.
I would miss all the things
I see along the way
to finding what I'm looking for.

So I drive around
and take pictures.

But if I were a real artist,
I'd sit outside and paint from life
during the short window
when the lighting is right.

And if I were a real person,
I would walk instead of driving.
I'd only bring what I could carry.

If I cared about authenticity,
I'd only use pigments found in plants,
not made in a lab.

If I wanted a deeper connection
with my art,
I wouldn't use a brush–
only my fingers.
And what about the paper?
I'd make it myself.

Which parts of being human
am I willing to give away?

It feels fine
up to a certain point.
Anything we grow up with
feels normal.
But is this current normal
what we need?

Anyone can tell you
walking is healthier than driving.
For one,
the odds of dying in a collision
at seventy miles per hour
drop to zero.

Sometimes I walk
barefoot in the rain
to take out the trash.
I used to walk barefoot
everywhere
when I was a kid.

Now we have to call it grounding
and attempt to prove
with scientific research
that it's beneficial.

Why don't we let intuition
tell us what we need?
Maybe intuition is broken.
Maybe we should let our children tell us–
but we might have broken them, too.

Did Adam
till the ground in Eden
with his bare hands?
Are all these machines
just tools,
like garden rakes?

This time
it feels like something
more than that.

But that's how old stodgy people
have always reacted
to innovation.

There is always some stick-in-the-mud
warning us
not to lose our humanity.

Is that reaction
rooted
in an intuition
we ought to pay attention to?

A question I've heard asked:
"If you could take a pill
that gave you
all the nutrients you need
so you didn't have to eat,
would you?"

Sometimes I might–
if I have important things to do,
or if I were deep
in the middle of a project.

But not every day.

I would miss eating
cherry pie filling out of the can.
I would miss taking the time
to chew fresh bread.

But do I want to walk
naked and barefoot
to a location I like,
and paint with my fingers
and pokeberry juice?

(I used to call them
paintberries
before I knew their name)

I couldn't paint a house,
only a shelter
made of fallen tree branches.

So instead
I take the car.
I take the picture.
I take the hit
to my authenticity.

But there are only so many things
I'm willing to give up;
sunlight isn't one of them.