I got up early this morning and trotted down to my frozen cave/office in the basement to write up a few things that I’d awoken thinking about. Having done so, I pulled up OS to see what was new on a Sunday morning. I had no intention of posting a blog. I fell immediately upon two very pleasant Sunday morning blogs that have set a nice tone to the day: “My Sunday Mornings Before Dawn” by KDStorm, and “How I Give Birth To A Painting” by cartouche. They have set me to thinking…
• • •
Art, like science, is a elegant process of discovery. Those of us who write, write to discover. We write to discover things that we already know and things that we had no idea we knew. We also write to create little spaces for ourselves in which we’ve never been, or sometimes in which we’ve only been in once – long ago and far away.
But part of the discovery is that there are things within us, beautiful and ugly things, that we’ll never know unless we attempt to draw them out. Some we coax and cajole. Some we trick. Some come spilling out by themselves and need to be stuffed back in. And some, we have no alternative but to reach in and grab them by the scruffs of their necks and yank them free – whining, complaining, laughing to themselves.
Art requires confidence and a certain daring-do. Part of the deal is that you have to be willing to fail. You never know what you’ll pull out when you reach in there. But I firmly believe that, with music: if you can hear it, you can play it. With art: if you can see it, you can draw it. With writing: if you can imagine it, if you can describe it, if you can feel it – you can write it.
I buttress life with words. I thank writing for giving me the opportunity to try to pack words gently around things to support them – like a game of sticks - and then slowly remove the things. Sometimes the words come crashing down… but sometimes they remain standing on their own.
And I discover something new.
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jmac1949
Lisa Scroggins
jlsathre
toritto
Deborah Young
I am Stretch
Salon.com
Comments
Joan: I'm reading your mind every morning. Explains a lot doesn't it.
Leonde: Realt with daring-do!
Shannon: I was trying to figure out how that got in my head this morning.
WalkAway: The spice of life. This is what makes my day. Thanks.
Pilgrim: Looks can be deceiving. You should see my x-rays.
Rated: By the Official Kilgore Trout of Open Salon.
Neither of these modes involves the digging of inner muck. But both are indeed art. The motivation is just as strong. The process is just as disciplined (perhaps more-so). In science, truth is repeatable data. In writing, truth is discovered many different ways, and is never the same twice.
think of this: you can write it if you can feel it. does that mean writers feel more, or differently, or are willing to explore those feelings in a deeper way? i think so. i do. and this piece makes me want to go write about that. see?
Indeed. It is the only thing that makes sense in life.
And I discover something new. "
Took me all day to find this, but it's well worth the wait. (r)