first
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i used to write much more than i do now. i used to draw. today a state farm commercial i saw in passing triggered a memory of what it used to feel like to sculpt. it remembered me of the nothingness of firm grey clay and how such a nothingness found out the small places between fingerprints and held there until completion or frustration set it aside. it is a disappearing muscle. a week or so ago, while drunk at a party at my house, i found myself pulling out an old sketch book. In it's thick watercolor pages resides a portrait, not yet finished, of the most beautiful picture of my mother. the photo from which it was drawn lay face up on this painting, and sitting there drunk with this unfinished expression, i tore from my wall a polaroid of myself that looks so much like her. i thought it ridiculously absurd regarding these two photos and an unfinished painting. there under my impaired inspection were three pieces of evidence of three lost eras, with nothing in common but the tie of an echo of form, a series of overtones my untimely observation did nothing but damp. i don't draw any more, nor write nor sculpt. though i can form the equation of such an overtone, i cannot express it. the frustration of form was/is always the battle.
i used to write much more than i do now. i used to draw. today a state farm commercial i saw in passing triggered a memory of what it used to feel like to sculpt. it remembered me of the nothingness of firm grey clay and how such a nothingness found out the small places between fingerprints and held there until completion or frustration set it aside. it is a disappearing muscle. a week or so ago, while drunk at a party at my house, i found myself pulling out an old sketch book. In it's thick watercolor pages resides a portrait, not yet finished, of the most beautiful picture of my mother. the photo from which it was drawn lay face up on this painting, and sitting there drunk with this unfinished expression, i tore from my wall a polaroid of myself that looks so much like her. i thought it ridiculously absurd regarding these two photos and an unfinished painting. there under my impaired inspection were three pieces of evidence of three lost eras, with nothing in common but the tie of an echo of form, a series of overtones my untimely observation did nothing but damp. i don't draw any more, nor write nor sculpt. though i can form the equation of such an overtone, i cannot express it. the frustration of form was/is always the battle.
posted by jessica at 12:09 AM
4 Comments:
I truly enjoy your writing.
This post reminds me of why I began my own blog--I used to write, to create, and for the past 6 years, I have been a slave to grad school-I hadn't really felt any motivation to write for myself. For some reason, something about Mr. Malan Breton resonated with me, and I brought out my old box of poetry and writing. Like you said, it's a weak muscle. I wonder if I have the impetus anymore, the vocabulary, even. Best of luck to you :)
thanks very much!
you know, blogging is an odd action of sending something meaningful off into a void where you don't know who or if anyone ever sees it. i actually quite like that uncertainty. but i'm glad someone is seeing it. thanks for reading. i'm also glad that you can relate. school, especially school in the sciences (i might be biased), is so demanding that your existence becomes saturated with it. you become your science and other things that used to fit well with you become less important. i hope i'll be able to keep up this blog when classes start again. what did you go to grad school in? i like your postcards very much. i collect them too, especially ones that are old photographs of people i don't know.
I love your writing and I'm I'm reading one of your favourite books master and margarita, did you enjoy it? I would like to visit again.
thank you for reading. i did enjoy that book very much. it has a specific sort of dark magical realism that, whenever i read it, inspired what i might describe as a intrigued catharsis. which was comforting at the point in my life. also, the oversized cat is an great character.
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