This evening just time for a quick, small oil sketch, it is about 8 x 10 inches. I was going to paint an oil version of my charcoal sketch of a river scene (below). But once I put down the horizon line and got some green and red into the foreground I could not resist turning this into something else.
In her book, Ten Windows: How Great Poems Transform the World, Jane Hirschfield writes:
In the last instants of a shark’s approach to its prey, it closes its inner eyelids for self-protection, and most of its other senses shut down as well. Only one remains active: a bioelectrical sensory mechanism in its jaw, a guidance system uniquely made for striking. ... During writing, in the moment an idea arrives, the eyes of ordinary seeing close down and the poem rushes forward into the world on some mysterious inner impulsion that underlies seeing, underlies hearing, underlies words as they exist in ordinary usage.
I suspect it is somewhat the same with painting – when the music, spirit and eye converge in some inexpressible synergy. Perhaps one could replace “poet” with “painter” and “poem” with “painting” in the last paragraph above.
Song of the Twelve Hours of the Day Middle of the night— the first hour In my dreams, I go here and there and don’t know how to stop myself. Treading into pieces the green of the eastern hills and the western peaks, Then turning over to find one’s been nestled in the bedcovers all along. Grant, Beata. Daughters of Emptiness: Poems of Chinese Buddhist Nuns (p. 102). Wisdom Publications. Kindle Edition.
Thanks for visiting!