Studio Date (a thank you note)

My friend Sarah invited me to her studio the other day. I won’t describe the paintings (or, not quite); that’s for her to do. But I will describe the conversation.

She’s working on reflections now, on remembered water (among other things). She talked about the importance of noticing, in all of her work. Her tools are different than mine, as is her language–color, gesture, light. But I thought afterward how some of our themes or concerns are similar. The novel I’m working on now, in a way, is about noticing water. About noticing memories. Or the way memories are told into stories.

This is a thank you note because the invitation itself was such a generous impulse. It was so much fun to talk to someone else about her art, a different art than mine. And I admired my friend’s generosity, and her willingness to show her work in progress, not sure in every case how done a piece was, or at what point in its progress she was showing it. (A side thought–is progress, with its teleological cast, the right word here? Maybe simply work-not-yet-completed.) She let me ask dorky questions about method and tools, because I’m interested in how other people work, and what they work with. She even offered me jasmine tea.

And she inspired me, too, to share more work in progress, something I don’t do all that often. There’s the concern not to impose (who has time to read all that? who wants to?) but it’s also self-protective. There is a point in a project when I know it’s not yet ready to be talked about, when even an idea I know (or I’m fairly sure) is good, will likely crawl back into its chrysalis at the first harsh breath of mild questioning. I do believe, at some level, that you can talk about a book or you can write it. But I think there’s a middle ground, beyond tiny precious fragile inkling but before fully fledged butterfly of glory, where I might take my darlings out for a walk in the park with friends. I’m looking for that point now, hoping to find it just a bit earlier in the trajectory than I have tended to do in the past.

And, always, taking seriously the injunction to notice. For your noticing pleasure this evening: a short video of sea foam on the Oregon coast. Something I never tire of watching.

Sea foam video(480p)