Incubation and the Art Process
I have an insightful friend/artist, who asked me a very pertinent question about the poetry I write. Let me tell you that when discussing things with her, you had better be prepared for razor sharp penetration to the heart of an issue. It is one of the things I love about her. I had mentioned that I wasn’t writing much anymore, because I was so focused on quilt making. Here was her question/statement:
“Surely the contemplative nature of its incubation could be a productive part of your art process?”
That question left me speechless as it echoed in my skull chamber. I was tempted to smack myself on the forehead, but I have learned to accept that sometimes we are oblivious to the most obvious things about ourselves. It takes the probing of another~a loving, sentient being~to help us achieve certain realizations. Thank you Margi!
I put Margi’s insights together with Tammy Vitale’s November 21st offering, over at Women, Art, Life, of a poem that touched others, as well as myself. It is titled Dream. Ellie, responded by sharing a poem of her own. She also said she once played piano! Leah liked the poem and when I went to her site, I was very taken with her work! It has the quality of visual poetry! Then I found this page by Tinkerings. The water lily is a favorite image of mine, and this hand is beautifully rendered.
So, I am going to crash the music playing, poetry writing, image making party with a poem (and image) of my own. But first, let me say that I played piano at one time (years of exams and festivals) but gave it up to pursue art and poetry. I simply didn’t feel I could spend the hours needed, any more, to keep my technique up to the level required to do justice to Bach, Mozart, etc.
As for this poem, I don’t know if it’s finished; it was in my head when I woke up yesterday morning, around 5 pm, and hurried to the computer to capture it. I may decide I have to change some words, or entire lines in the future, but I’m going to publish it anyway. The image is part of my Daily Design Papers practice, though I didn’t publish it on the blog.
Our hope would have it
There is something within us, something golden and round like a holy yolk that seeks to break free. It’s not
that this structure of skin and bone lacks comfort or familiarity. It actually seems alive. We pet and groom it, teach it tricks, entice it with treats. But inevitably the pins that hold it all in place let loose the soft shell crumbles. What walked and talked now proves itself a mere
container. That precious orb within is still intact at least our hope would have it so despite its perfect absolute inscrutability. Or, perhaps,
because of it?
© Carol Wiebe