I’m not sure what happened to my relationship with visual art. I mean, with drawing and painting. Sometime back I used to carry a canvas tote in the trunk of my car that had water color supplies, so that I could paint at the beach or other scenic stops. I think I took it out when my weekends became commuting to a boy friend’s place and not going out on the beach by myself.
And drawing? I make quick sketches to help me remember plans but I can’t remember the last time I studied something long enough to make a good drawing. Oh yes, at Asilomar last year there was an exercise in feeling an object in a bag with one hand and drawing it with the other. Interesting. A leaping frog cork topper, which did not make a drawing I cared about keeping, though I made a strong rendering of it and could guess the object. Tactile.
So, it felt good to clear the table cloth off my fold down kitchen table and find art supplies, some in a closet, some in the garage mixed with writing camp stuff, and arrange them in my view. And since I made the art supplies visible and accessible, I’ve been thinking that same funny way I do when I’m wondering what to write. Hm, what to draw?
At least there’s some noticing going on. I found an old ink drawing of mine from 1970 too. It is s strange silhouette of a head with patterns and fractals filling the brain and odd nerve ending reaching out like feelers instead of hair. And a brush painting of me standing nude in a waterfall. Those where crazy times, I guess. And they don’t say anything about what I want to do now, except remind me that, like writing, drawing and painting work best if I’m doing it regularly. Stamina and fluency.
So, making space. Being intentional about the artist card. A bit scary. And remembering that I have several big school and writing project events up this week and next. However, I like the look in the kitchen.