Fri: Why is it that I expect precision from my unskilled hand and from a medium I haven't used in fifteen-plus years, or from words on a page that only symbolize actual experience? A draft is a draughty experience…written or visual.
Sat: The beauty and colors of Nature are so much more detailed than I can convey in any form.
Sun: The imaginal landscape I carry within is an untidy place where unlikely alliances grow oddly curious yet lovely floral and faunal elements.
Mon: Sometimes, just sometimes, the way in which actual landscapes enter my inner wild places opens a pathway for flow onto the page…art paper or writing paper.
Tues: “Simpler” is definitely not easier. A photo of silky, flat sky and backlit, smooth land is an oil-pastels challenge; a simple model I’ve created and modified over years suddenly becomes infinitely complex as it enters the pages of my manuscript.
Wed: It takes courage, audacity, or possibly hope to use blunt black and payne’s gray oil pastels to attempt depicting the fine needles of a backlit fir tree against the delicate baby blue and creamy pink sky. It takes guts, an embrace of the profane, or sheer rugged determination to redraw the model for the manuscript—and to call it something other than “model”—after twenty-eight years.
Thurs: While it seems inconceivable, and surely wasn’t something I could’ve predicted, there is a surge of creative thought, impulse, other media, and inspiration seeding additional creative projects this week. My only limit is time. A sweet new journal is becoming inhabited by sketches, words, prayers, colors, and more…in addition to this 100-day project.
Summary:
A garden of creativity is abloom in my home this week. The more I water, prune, offer to sunlight, fertilize, and converse with these growing beings, the more they fill this space…my haven…with their palpably robust desire to exist.
