But back to my splurge... I bought books. A couple of novels, and two art books. One is on Japanese Ink Painting. It looks wonderful, full of sensuous brush strokes, stark and elegant monochrome creations. The sample works have a distant similarity to charcoal sketches, but the motion of water color. The liquidity of the shapes is truly sensuous. Something as simple as a curved blade of grass becomes an exciting arc that sings of the power of natural form. This is an art form that really works its white spaces.
I'm thinking that accounts for a great deal of what I'm feeling drawn to. My other purchase was a book on watercolor technique. Ever since I was introduced to the watercolors of John Singer Sargent I've been awed by how powerful this art form can be. In both techniques, the paper is an integral part of the work, not merely a support for a collage of oil or acrylic paint. I would love to work in these mediums, I'll probably invest more of my Dragon*Con money in art supplies. You could blow $500 on art supplies and not fill an old fashioned paper shopping bag, easily. Damn I love art supplies. :) At Elements we did an exercise on what is called the 'Inflated Self' where you're basically supposed to picture yourself at your ultimate. My picture came up a huge studio full of pure clear cool white light coming down from enormous skylight windows looking out onto blue skies. I had a huge canvas to work on and every color there was to work with. Definitely an Ivory Tower/Castle In The Sky type vision. I still go oooooo just thinking about it.
Anyway, time to quote a poem. Here's some T.S. Eliot from Burnt Norton out of Four Quartets:
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
And a little further on....
Garlic and sapphires in the mud
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
The thrilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
Appeasing long forgotten wars.
The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
There it is, poetry, food for the brain. Eat. And if you want more, go to
I think I'll go read the whole thing. Each time I think I grasp it a little better.