Uncategorized

A Notebook is a Kid’s Best Friend

You know that feeling of a brilliant idea you’re sure you had, now just out of reach? Like waking from a vivid dream with no memory of the dream.

Or maybe you had the wording for what you wanted to say just right, but you didn’t jot it down and now none of your phrasing feels as poignant. 

One of my mom’s artist’s magazines told me to carry a notebook everywhere I went, no matter what, for that perfect image waiting to be sketched. Most writers will say to have it beside the bed, for when inspiration (a drawing in of breath) strikes. That is, by the way, how I’m writing this, on a night when I fell asleep too early and woke up at 2am wired. 

So why do I forget to write things down? Because I’m at work, driving, or otherwise find it impossible or unsafe? Sometimes. But as a member of the human race, no matter how well I think I know something, I have to keep learning these lessons. I’ve gone whole weeks with a bag filled with novels and crochet projects, but no notebook or no pen. 

Plus, and I’m sure you can relate, I act like my phone can do the job. I have Evernote, the WordPress app, can even sketch with a stylus. Which is fabulous! My phone is more mini computer and writing implement than communication device in how I use it. Sure, I get distracted, but more than that, half the time I want to write something on my phone, it’s dead! Paper is amazingly reliable. 

Even as I’m writing this I’m struggling with formatting issues that aren’t a big deal, but take me out of my flow. 

Plus, it’s easier to avoid editing while writing on paper, and save that pesky judgmental voice for later, when typing up. Of course I’ll keep using my phone for creative endeavors. But there still needs to be a notebook on me at all times.

What about you? Is your phone enough? Are you attached to a notebook or sketch pad? Is there some other method that works for you? I’d love to hear!

Advertisements

New Video Poem! Before You Looked

Art poem of the last week, or that time when I hallucinated selfies and mused via bird metaphors. Everything, good or bad, happens to us inside the body. The body becomes an 8mm projection.

My first full blown video poem in a while. I’m really pleased with the increases in quality since my last releases, and having a lot of fun using more effects and playing with a partially pseudo “stop-motion” effect (selfies in succession etc). When I said I was influenced by L’étranges couleurs des larmes de ton corp, I partially meant I’m obsessed with switching between film and chains of still images after seeing the way the effect was used by directors Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani. (For more on the state of internal operations that fomented this video, see the last entry.) I don’t necessarily recommend the film if you have issues with violence or sexual violence, however. It was a bit traumatic. 

I don’t think I’m the kind of person who goes for skill and technique so much as the kind of person who attempts an emotional wrenching -documentation – and a phantasmagorical sensory experience if all goes well. So – this is that at least.

Your comments and responses are welcomed & cherished here and on YouTube.

NaPoWriMo Day 20: Herbs Talk Back

Prompt: family member perspective. I had no ideas for my actual family, but since the basil is extended family, I wrote from their point of view.

Herbs Talk Back

 

I don’t feel like a child

when my roots are scrambling for purchase;

when I am watered infrequently and too much;

the oaks tower above me, ancient, into

the thoughtless blue, but they are a different species.

Today the water-eyed boy transplanted

basil, rosemary, oregano, mint and parsley.

That’s me, the basil. He thinks I’m delicate

(if delicious) and if I can survive

then he can too. The rosemary is his favorite,

because they thrive in spite of him,

and sit just right on potatoes.

He coaxes my roots into the new earth,

fine fingers in dark soil. A frog

claims one of the pots as his own.

The boy washes his hands and eats beside us,

dirt still under his nails.