Writing in Layers

Exuberance in Blues      

 in acrylics and fabric  18" x 24"  (not finished, I'm just getting started here.)

When I paint, I do the entire canvas first with an undercoated background, let it dry, then go back over it with an enlarged drawing, adding lines, painting the composition, then finally adding details.  That's me painting in layers.  I also have the same tendency when I write.

And that tendency is to be a "meat and potatoes" writer.  I can tell you a great skeleton story: this is what happens, why it happens and this is how it ends - but that's not much of a story, is it?  The real story comes out in the details and the finesse in which it is told.  The reader wants to really be there in the story with real characters, not paper cut outs.  And the writer also needs to give his characters LIFE, with all its foibles.  Set the scene - hear the crunch of the dry grasses as they are walked upon, the feel of the hot breeze upon one's face.  Uncertainty and fear.  How does that physically feel?

Usually after I beat a story to death (by continually gong back over it ad nauseum, filling in more details each time), I quickly lose interest in it.  This is truly the "work" part of writing.  Don't let anyone fool you; writing - the constant editing and revising - is hard work, just as perspective, drawing and graphing is the work part of art.  Creativity carried out to its end is a lesson in perseverance and commitment.

The Long Road

My father had been in the hospital during Thanksgiving with an infection and once released, was on home care.  I was trained by the nurses to change his IV bag, tubes, and to reset his digital pump daily.  Hence, the reason I've not been here for a while with managing two households.  I've been a little busy. But the six weeks are up today and we're all celebrating - my parents are especially since they've been practically housebound for that entire time.  But to be honest about it, I'm going to miss the drive from the southernmost end of Plain township to  Green.  every day.  I had a 20 minute drive - but I made it in 15 minutes on New Year's - no traffic! 

The 'back way' consisted of omitting Cleveland avenue in favor of Whipple North to Shuffel,  Where I ended up was Aultman Avenue, State Street, then Boston Avenue. I love Boston Avenue.  That's where the above picture was taken shortly before Christmas.  The flatness of the land around Boston is, for me, wonderfully reflective of the farmland where I once lived when I taught in Arkansas.  That's a different story. For someone whose has half her family coming from Ireland via West Virginia, it's a little ironic that I found solace in the flatness of the land, but there was a peacefulness about it.  I also found some introspection and inspiration. 

No doubt those seeds sown during this time will eventually find their way to the surface when the time is right.  Maybe they will appear in a painting or possibly a poem.  The possibilities are endless.