I am being held captive by Nabokov. My papers are pure, but my thoughts are of sin. Humbert is asking me what holds me in thrall? What is it about island puddles brim full of life? And oysters. Or thin slivers of light. One blade of grass, a footprint, a ripple. He's asking me, "So what?" And now, now I must find the color of night.
When there is bare minimum to paint...what is it about? A breath, a moment, a sigh of delight? Something that stops us in our tracks? Aesthetic bliss. On an island. Where the eye is unfettered and the heart can roam, and the wild parts are right out front. Here is the scary part: It becomes as much about me as it is about those island parts... and Humbert is asking me to get naked. Really naked. He kept me tossing and turning again last night.
It's those oysters and that sweet spot struggle and all those images I looked through yesterday. Hmph. Handmade paper arrived from Hiromi, I opened it this morning. Three luscious sheets for some bas-relief "screens". Those drawings are to be gentle, refined, almost pristine. That was/is the idea. But these other pieces, others on my list, I have to get primal with them. (It's that charcoal drawing ape I tell you.) I have to paint that delicate oyster, find the color of night, and dig deeper. Then deeper still. Tickle some mystery that's right at the core... of me and of you. That's where we'll meet.
Simple? As simple as being naked in public. Sheesh, but can't I have some sleep? That muse...
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Posted by Janice C. Cartier at 9:46 AM