A hazy shade of something

In the slough of the post-project plummet since completing my poetry pamphlet, I have been unable to write for six months. It’s starting to look like a phobic reaction. It has happened before but never quite to this extent. I suspect it is not the writing, per se, that is the problem but the belief that I am obliged to “do something” with it (all the more so after the mentorship with Pascale Petit: she did not share her time and expertise so I can cram my desk drawer with unpublished manuscripts). But the material facts strongly suggest I am constitutionally averse to what I think of as “the poetry circus”. Nor is this just shyness. It is exhausting and stressful to engage with it. Not for the first time, I ask myself, “Do I really want that? Or do I only believe I should want it? If I am not writing,” so the logic goes, “then there will be nothing to have to send out.”

However, when I am not involved in a regular creative practice, I implode. My mind needs a bumper box of assorted chew-toys if it is not to tear up the place, and sufficient emotive and sensory content to prevent my drifting off-world into complete abstraction.

A series of synchronicities led to my signing up for Art2Life‘s Creative Visionary Program: a three-month intensive art course that proved to be every bit as joyous as it was challenging. It was just brilliant, and it didn’t take long to understand why Nicholas Wilton calls his company Art2Life: I learnt a tonne of art theory and have about 25 years’ worth of practise to continue with but, beyond that, Nick and his team amply modelled an attitude of living life generously. This is priceless.

I enjoyed the learning as much as the painting and set myself the task of making copious colour-mix charts, an activity I find immensely soothing and quietly thrilling! I learned that I enjoy working with a limited palette in muted colours (reduced risk of overwhelm-paralysis) and that what I really want to paint (though as yet largely lacking the skills to do so) is the emotive and sensory quality of the things I experience, and how I think about them, rather than an “accurate” portrayal of them.

I felt right at home with the course’s clear structure, and its amount of detail and re-iteration of key concepts. I continue to struggle with play which I persist in framing as chaos and mess (and I hate having paint dry on my hands!).

By the end of the program I had built the beginnings of a sustainable art-making practice (some of which I can transfer to my writing) and I had made a stack of acrylic paintings, including a series of three portraits of me, my sister, and my daughter as little kids. I did not anticipate this as a subject but they insisted. Fully engaging with the program required (and created the conditions for) painting personal and vulnerable work. I felt a need to honour the kids we were, to acknowledge the difficulties we each faced, and how those things remain part of what continues to shape the people we are today. Perhaps it is only through doing so that I can be properly present and get on with doing the damn work of being here now.

Disrupted Daughters no.1: Adrift

Disrupted Daughters no.2: Left

Disrupted Daughters no.3: Hexed

 

Burnt out and fired up

“So, how are things?” asked Juliette. The other Dialect mentees and I were meeting up with her on Zoom for a six-months-on debrief. After the usual dead air while I consider the myriad of potential answers to this routine question, I opt for burnt out. I’m a poet (am I still a poet when I’m not writing?): it’s a metaphor. Not remotely original, granted, but it conveys the all-consumed, scorched socket of a sensation: writing practice as landscape in the aftermath of a plague of fire-locusts. It’s no comfort to recognise that I struck the match, that I all but invited the voracious beasties, each one, by name.

So I get myself fired up over another project: the Art2Life CVP course. It’s been a blast but this week was a challenge. We were invited to get the paints out and fill two panels just as we pleased, without thinking about it, being led by whatever felt good. We were invited to play. Sounds good, right? It turns out that, while I get the concept, when I come to do play, I end up miserable and anxious because my instinct to define the task and come up with a set of procedures to follow doesn’t work. (This might be funny if only it didn’t trip me up quite so much.) It’s too VAST, and I’m overwhelmed. I am choosing to view this as useful feedback… . I want structure, I want parameters: put that on a T-shirt and get paint on it!