I’ve sat here for four nights now trying to put into words the trouble that my most recent drawing has been.
Trying to find the words for the way its stomach-churning howl echoed through the rafters of my mind, splintered here and there by the continual stream of voices that have gathered there to do their horrible dancing. Locusts, insatiable and restless; humming, thrumming, buzzing, consuming, eternally.
My dad would say “better out than in” but it feels like dirty laundry. Like punching yourself in the nose, then showing off the bruise - and forgetting how you got it. A bad dream, a fit, imaginary. Was this real? Was it me? I can’t touch any of it.
Reaching the shore after this one merited tangible, palpable relief. I’m making a point of not looking back at it, either.
Today we had a warm spell and I felt alive for the first time since Thanksgiving. Muddy paws and boots alike - happiness all around. Chickadees (please please come visit us) in pines, bluejays in beeches, the eerie silence of a red-tailed hawk overhead, and the unmistakable trill of a lone kingfisher across the swollen river. Smiling in the sun, pale and ghostly from the winter, eyes squinting and stinging, the world looking washed-out in brightness, laughing with full hearts drunk on warmth and fresh air, feverishly wishing from the soles of our eight feet that it didn’t have to end.
What a compelling picture of dark and light you have here. You never actually say what it is about the last picture that so disturbs you. If there's any hint to be inferred, I suppose it would be that it represents some part of you which you don't want to own (or have owned.) I'm probably falling prey to the obvious in my laziness.
ReplyDeleteDo you know, your use of English really comes alive when you submit to the lyrical imperative. It more than hints at the externalizing of a highly aware psyche.
And might I say that the picture of Brogan immediately catches the eye for the precise nature of the composition. It serves the presence of the big man himself perfectly, as it no doubt should. The picture of the European Robin is exquisite, but it doesn't look like your style.
It's very hard to say exactly what it is that is so troubling. You're certainly right at least in part - there's a piece of myself that I'm not wanting to share that made its way in there (emotional reaction, mainly anger and repulsion at the social and political state of my surroundings) - I realize its imperfect, has holes, inconsistencies, so sharing it is less than pleasant. As well, I never want this work to be obvious - and I feel this one is. I recognize it as part of the process though, for better or worse, and therefore I won't hide it.
DeleteThanks muchly - it's hard to find that voice again after having shut it up and allowed it to be buried under all sorts of flotsam and jetsam.
Interesting. The robin is indeed my very own. I've amassed a collection of little illustrative for-fun bird paintings I've been doing in-between the larger, heavier pieces. They're a catharsis of sorts. The huge variation in personal style I use in is a subject of much debate in my mind. I hope to write a post on it soon after re-organizing all the work and having some time to think on it all.