Cutting Through Two Days of Fog

Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic fear which is inherent in the human situation.

Graham Greene

We don’t experience much fog in Texas weather, but the past two mornings have featured a heavy fog, and my drive to work in the dawn’s dim light was quite out of the ordinary.  The more I peered into the density of the fog, the more I thought about writing and ways in which we can use it to take the fog out of our half-baked ideas.  Interestingly, I have been reading James Joyce, and his texts have given me considerable pause when thinking about the fog of expression.  I was amused recently to hear Joseph Campbell in a taped lecture describe the text of Ulysses as pure protein–no fat, no carbohydrates.  I could think of a number of other ways to describe this text.  After the first ten pages, I’m seeking plenty of help in elucidation of what’s going on with the story, but I’m enjoying the skirmish.  When thinking of role models of the literary world who knew how to cut through the fog with their writings, Joyce doesn’t immediately come to mind.  But I’ll explore that one later.

After a full afternoon and evening of chores, I finally got to return to my watercolor still life project.  I can feel my breathing and heart rate change every time I enter this garage studio, this man cave, my sanctuary.

We must reserve a little back-shop, all our own, entirely free, wherein to establish our true liberty and principal retreat and solitude.

Montaigne

The world retreated, and I bent over my study and went to work with plenty of masquing on the woven fly fishing creel and the carved decorations in the back of the chair.  Beyond that, I had to exercise patience and apply several layers of transparent wash to the creel, the hat, and the chair back.  While waiting for layers to dry, I continued to tinker with some of the details I had already begun yesterday.  The hour is drawing late, and of course I would like to have pushed further than I did, but I did my best.  Tomorrow will be another long day.

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.

 

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