Wednesday, October 5, 2016

preparation of the writing room

Outside the cold is piercing like putting a hand in ice water. I have seen the Ohio Buckeye carefully lay out the cards of her leaves on the table of the lawn and felt her consideration as I passed the hand of orange and green figures. Everywhere the geraniums put out for disposal are grieving in their rotting pots. Chrysanthemums blurt out their last requests.  I have covered up the deck plants in garbage bags as it was too cold for them to be happy. I put the impatiens pots in the shed but how long will they last in this frigid weather?

I am barely awake. The writing room will be painted today. It's a long process that takes ages. I am still doing laundry which will eat up some of the time.
When the two coats of paint are done I will think about painting the old furniture I got at garage sales and my writing table. The writing table is too high and is made of bits of spruce wood but it does the job. I am thinking of painting it with the oops paint or any left over paint in the house.

It's not that I don't want beautiful but I am the practical sort and use up what is left over so we don't waste it.
The sun is making crisp remarks outside and the leaves are rustling in a complaining fashion at the front porch. I will have to go do the collecting of the leaves and scattering their ashes on the death beds of the perennials in the garden. I was going to go for a walk but I am waiting for my body to wake up.

Because we are all in a rush these days and with problems/ joys of our own it is hard to appreciate the good things we have in our lives. It's not that we don't know of the good things, but we forget to think about them. Right now I have a writing room that will be painted and made pretty with junk furniture and junk objects that I like to collect. I make no apologies for the junky stuff. They satisfy my need for texture, variety and inspiration. When I get tired of the junky stuff, I box it up and give it away to the Goodwill folks. They get money from my foraging. Then I start over again.

Maybe object collection allows us to think about our physical environments and how we make it ours.  A home isn't a home without things in it. But how many things? I am slowly giving away most of my things as they seem to be excess rather than satisfying.  But for the rest it is all very much a way to make a creative space.

A creative space doesn't mean the work I do in that space is expert or even remotely good. I will simply practice. My colouring pencils are all stacked neatly. There is paper. I will make what I can, what I want and what satisfies me. At the end of our lives, there is a bed and there is a room with the endless time of passing into the silence all around us. It's a place where we won't get to do what we want but simply have to sit inside ourselves to feel our past experiences. Let me make my past experiences so satisfying that they will nourish me and mine at the end.

Painting, writing and creativity is making what is inside you visible outside of you. It may be that we never succeed at the beautification of the world with objects.  It may be that everything we do is futile work. But the doing of it is surely not futile, but a testament of our will in the face of inevitable decline, death and silence. 

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