Transformation

this weekend in Chicago is invigorating. it’s cold and light snow fell. ice crusts the shore. broken spaces release the energy.

being with another person is confining. we rarely agree because i am slow, quiet and want to savor the feelings the sounds and sights produce. he is fast, loud and out of touch. annoyed by everyone and everything. but i managed to make him wait in the snow while i took a few pictures.

i am tired but a good tired. i am existing in a sacred place.

this Chicago visit was to see Rodin’s sculptures at the Art Institute. i have not completely digested the experience. his sculptures pull so much out of me. the locked cage, broken open. infiltration welcomed.

while at the Institute, we decided to check out more of the contemporary art and revisit a few favorites.

Energy and motion made visible – memories arrested in space –Jackson Pollock

The Key Jackson Pollock, 1946

Part of the Accabonac Creek series and a prelude to his drip paintings.

Number 17A Jackson Pollack, 1948

this. being surrounded by art. it all makes me jealous. i want to paint. i imagine myself painting. i feel my body shifting, as i lift the brush. the canvas never stationary and neither am i. the color calling. my hips sway and i feel eyes watching me. i want to be bold but gravity keeps me from flying.

City Landscape Joan Mitchell, 1955

a close-up of the favorite place i would reside in Joan’s landscape. a happy place indeed. certainly lost but found to me. splashes of red, pink… orange. Enveloped by reality of black, white, grey, brown… blue.

yes, i am referring to myself. after all, borderline crossing is all about me. my willingness to share a glimpse of me, with you. tear a piece off and toss it. wait. scrutinize your intentions.

we all need order to heal the crags of depression that consume. perhaps we are all lost in Joan’s landscape. hanging around the wrong colors. worshipping the pain in our lives. i am learning to cross the river and enjoy the other side.

Do i dare

emerge from -shadows,

drink deep

from the well?

Wind clappin’

slappin’ my face

You offer -me

am i real?

a figment

of our imagination?

Wind clappin’

slappin’ my face

Drink deep -crimson

less the world

worn and heavy

rape your soul.

Wind clappin’

slappin’ my face

Save yourself.

Advice

We all need advice if we are honest with ourselves. Criticism is another beast.

I doubt my poetry. Like children needing maturity in order to survive the school teacher’s eye, they languish.

 As Tennyson said, doubt is not always bleak. It can prove to shape us in countless ways we otherwise may never have considered.

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.
–Tennyson (1809-1892)

Sylvia Plath was very self-critical. In her letters, she edited and revised her poems, with a stern approach. She doubted. Her stated purpose in writing was to “evoke certain attitudes, feelings and thoughts for the reader” and in doing she recognized her trouble with “too much subconscious clinging to cliches and downtrodden combinations. Not enough originality. Too much blind worship of modern poets and not enough analysis and practice.”

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. –Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)

What seems to be a paradox, is actually a double-edged sword. For those who can be creative while criticizing yourself, you have a leg up on you. She confessed to never being doubtful but her own words contradict so.

Chances

Words of others are stepping stones to a world that often does not greet us kindly. Searching for meaning is futile when we only consult books for answers. Our steps begin to count when we experience a whole host of situations. The circle becomes complete when we permit our thoughts to reside at an open door for another to walk through. What love we missed growing we gain by living. I love sharing this journey with you. J Follow the Son