When I am writing for work the words flow just fine. When I am writing here, which I think of as running scales, snapshots of my life transform into paragraphs quicker than I can tap them out. Often they are lost, left on the conveyor belt of the grocery store or the pillow on which I laid my head to recover from a rare and ridiculous hangover.
But the story that I want to tell, of how home has affected me since I was small, sticks.
|Show Off (Peony)|
Plodding and pedestrian, I only keep it as some sort of pre-writing that has captured facts that I don’t want to lose. I don’t want to admit that it was a waste. Of time. Of energy. Of ink.
|Mums the Word (Chrysanthemum)|
Sitting at the large round table in my dining room to paint is different. It is not effortless and there are lots of mistakes and many starting overs, but I am finding lightness here. Here, I find my groove.
Painting feels as natural and essential as writing has in the past. I am trying to open myself up to it and stop judging what I should or should not be doing.
The boys and dogs don’t notice a difference. At least they have not mentioned that the writing mess of legal pads and pages of text scratched through with my thick black pen has been replaced with canvas and brushes and small bottles of paint. If they’re aware that I pull on the same tattered and splattered jeans every day and that my hair is always in a ponytail, they’re not concerned. Their trains, as it were, are still running on time. Mine, too, I suppose. It’s just running in a different direction.
|Something to Crow About|
KC Needlepoint has very graciously offered to feature my work for the month of October. This is the first group of canvases; I’ll post the rest when they are available. You can find them on their site, here. If you have questions, please feel free to email or comment here.