I have had ideas. Some have come to life in paintings, sculpture, stories and poems. Others have withered, turned stale on small scraps of paper in my desk drawer or languished in a multitude of partly filled notebooks.
On some days, small days, I think “what’s the point?”
I rant, sometimes rave, and then I let silence come back to me. That’s when I re-discover some of those ideas in the drawers and notebooks and somehow hope comes back to me via those few bits of paper.
Last night I found a small notepad, the kind you would make your grocery list on. I must have been carrying it in my jacket pocket on one of my many walks in the fields out behind the house I used to live in, the one in Calgary. There’s no grocery list, just a quick inventory of my thoughts and the promise to hold the words and use them to create something new and original. From this notepad:
this is my worship. the quiet moment between doing. I stand in the field, eyes closed, breathing, feeling the energy around me, making an exchange of energy> nourishment, faith and grace
how can i ever hope to express this simple beauty>the tender silence>the coyote lying down, circle-style, at the edge of the field>the long evening light, almost sideways, smooth and gold, sliding its way along the side of a fallen tree like my hand along a wall.
and a few words from a poem I wrote long ago:
something about passion.
her empty hand searching air for something solid.
tracing an outline. following. curve
after curve. her hands scoops warm dry air. layers, shapes,
that led to this piece
It was supposed to be a fired clay relief panel but it exploded in the kiln. That day, after the rant and the rave, I moved forward and created something from the shards of my experience. It is my reminder to persevere though on some small days I forget this.
so the line of thoughts and intention continues