Large Watercolor in Progress of Fort Worth’s Scat Jazz Lounge
There is a great virtue in such an isolation. It permits a fair interval for thought. That is, what I call thinking, which is mainly scribbling. It has always been during the act of scribbling that I have gotten most of my satisfactions.
William Carlos Williams, Autobiography
Kerouac escapes this encircling loss in the act of writing.
Howard Cunnell, “Fast This Time: Jack Kerouac and the Writing of On the Road“
The past few days, because of my understanding that Jack Kerouac was fascinated with Melville’s writing, I turned to a copy of the original scroll of On the Road and have been reading introductory articles on the manuscript, and re-reading portions of the Tom Clark biography of Kerouac. Many agree that his longing for the American road was a response to his sense of loss due to the breakup of his family life (death of brother and father along with his own early divorce). Thoreau himself intimated that his move to Walden Pond was a search for something lost.
I long ago lost a hound, a bay horse, and a turtledove, and am still on their trail. Many are the travellers I have spoken concerning them, describing their tracks and what calls they answered to. I have met one or two who had heard the hound, and the tramp of the horse, and even seen the dove disappear behind a cloud, and they seemed as anxious to recover them as if they had lost them themselves.
Henry David Thoreau, Walden
For most of my life, I have been enthralled with the sense of the personal odyssey, and have myself benefited from many American road excursions. But honestly, at this juncture in my life, I don’t really need the road; I have memories, photos and journals that pull up the past as often as I choose. But I am pursuing the odyssey of the mind inside my newly reorganized home, and enjoying what feels like limitless space and extensive free time. I think what I have been seeking recently is what the German scholars of the nineteenth century called a Sturmfreies Gebiet, storm-free area. This was sought by Descartes, Hume, Emerson, Thoreau, Tillich, Kerouac, and a host of our revered luminaries, a storm-free area where one is safe to come to some sort of self-understanding. William Carlos Williams found great satisfaction scribbling thoughts and poetic fragments on his prescription pads while on the road to make house calls, or pounding the typewriter in his office when patients weren’t lined up and waiting.
While pondering these matters over the past couple of days, I happened across “The Chambered Nautilus,” by Oliver Wendell Holmes. Though I’ve read this piece several times throughout my life, I never really “got it” until this evening, when it washed over my soul with fresh revelatory power. Having grown up in the shadow of the Prostestant pulpit, I came under the conviction quite early in life that there is a power in that word, that oracle that comes when the hearer is ready, when the teachable moment has arrived. When the student is ready, the master will appear. I guess I was ready this evening. I had decided to go to a local Starbuck’s with an armload of books and my journal, and sit in the outside cafe with some iced coffee and a sense of anticipation that something could happen. It did.
“The Chambered Nautilus” is Holmes’s meditation of a mollusk that has died and can no longer expand its chambers. They now lie open to him, and he gets a sense of its developing natural history by examining the chambers in the house it’s left behind. As I pored over these words, my soul poured out nine handwritten pages in my journal. What a rush! It led me to Emerson’s essay “Circles” and to Whitman’s poem “As I Ebb’d with the Ocean of Life.” I felt my entire being stirred from within as I felt the cooling carresses and kisses of the evening winds sweeping across the nearby prairie and across my cafe seating area. It was truly a delicious night.
Now, back at home, I feel my heart stirred with gratitude at this gift received this evening, and in the spirit of the chambered nautilus, I wish to continue expanding new chambers in my existence as I continually read new things, think new thoughts, and try to figure out this wondrous gift called Life.
Oh yeah, the painting! Posted above is what I worked on after summer school and before the oracle stirred me at Starbuck’s. I finally got some texturing accomplished on the right side with the bricks, and tried to scratch in some grooves to show the lines of the bricks. I then turned my attention to the sign, carefully painting in the red fluorescent tubing within the letters, along with the shadows cast and the brackets securing them. This of course took a great deal of time, but I am in no hurry with it.
And now, I still have to continue working on material for this new online Logic course I’ll teach this fall at a nearby university. The things I’m learning in that area are also opening up a new chamber of thought within me, and I’m grateful for that as well. I’m delighted that this mollusk hasn’t yet perished.
Thanks for reading.
I paint in order to remember.
I journal when I feel alone.
I blog to remind myself that I am not alone.