Turning Toward

From the novel A Window Across the River by Brian Morton:

Writing was … the best way 

she had ever found

to express her fascination with life,

her quarrels with life, her questions.

She sometimes thought that even if

what she wrote every day

was doomed to disappear 

during the night,

she would keep writing stories,

just to make a daily pilgrimage

to the realm 

of mystery and reverence and play.

She didn’t always reach that realm

when she was writing stories,

but merely to turn toward it

was a kind of nourishment

unlike any other.

---

I lightened and loosened my work in progress, with pale pale blue oil pastel and splatters of glossy high-flow acrylic. 

Then got stuck again, stymied by this work in progress. Does it still need something? It might not. And, if it does, what? 

Even not knowing, I'm filled to the brim. 

Because, oh, that turning toward. 

That realm of mystery and reverence and play.

nourishing work in progress

One Thought, Another Thought

One thought: Why am I even working on this painting? 

There was some smidgen of intent when I started, a smidgen since forgotten, with disappointing results. Last week, hankering for some neurographic stress relief, I figured maybe this ignominious start could serve as backdrop.

Well, maybe. But it was no slam dunk, I'll tell you that much. The neurographia relaxed me, but the painting, as a painting, then elicited a whole bunch of fussing and striving that only enhanced the visual language up to a point. A point falling short of satisfaction.

Hence the thought: Why am I even working on this painting?

Then, yesterday morning unfolded with a laugh-out-loud text exchange with Meg, some eye-catching energizing splashes of color on Instagram, and a heart-opening conversation with artist MaryAnn.

Another thought: You have permission to wreck this painting!

Alrighty then.

Here's the up-to-a-point work in progress:

work in progress
~7 x 7"; acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on sketchbook page