Wordless Rest

FullSizeRender-4This is an in-progress drawing that’s been living on my desk the past week. It was a thin watercolor sketch from a photo I shot last summer, which I decided at the time didn’t appeal much. Somehow, I found it and started messing around with some excellent pens I found last summer when Mel Scott and I wandered around (one of) the gigantic Blick’s stores in New York.  It’s not meant to be great art; I’m posting it to show you how my creative process is evolving.

As I posted last week, I’ve been working with great focus on the Restoration project, Whi
tehall,** set in the court of Charles II of England, one of the most fascinating characters to ever hold the throne. I love everything about this era–the people and the clothes and the world hurtling from the old into the new. It was a time of burgeoning knowledge in the sciences, particularly “natural philosophy” an early term for the observation and recording of the natural world, in all arenas from medicine to botany, for which Charles also had a passion.The Royal Society, one of the world’s most revered scientific communities, had its first meetings at this time.

And who could help but love the brilliant, rakish, doomed John Wilmot, the Earl of Rochester?

When I agreed last summer to do the project, I had a thimble-full of history about the era, which has meant fervid immersion in all things Restoration, which is a lot of intense mental work. Which is one of the reasons I became a writer, frankly–there’s nothing I love more than learning all about something–but it’s hard work. Tiring. I have to take breaks, look away, change both my mental focus and my visual focus.

So I’ve been painting and drawing more. I write/research for an hour, then spent ten or fifteen or twenty minutes drawing, painting, scribbling. Something. It moves my brain into a completely different mode, entirely non-verbal but also laser focused. Every molecule of my attention goes into the shape of a line, a petal, a shadow, this very minute portion of the work. Which is like writing in a way, of course–you can only write the sentence at hand.

But behind each sentence in a novel are dozens, maybe hundreds, of bits of information. Fifth grade grammar class and the research from how gardens were arranged and where they were located to the shoes of the characters and her undergarments and how her hair was curled and what how the fabric moved and the relative positions of the players and what I wrote in the former scene and what’s coming later. It’s a lot of heavy lifting.

A line is particular, but it is particular to itself and this drawing or painting. I am only interested in how it shapes this page. I suppose there is a lot behind that line I draw, the colors I choose, other studies I’ve made, classes I’ve taken, but it’s not words. For this writer, I suppose that’s the thing. There are no words in painting. I love to read and I love to write, but sometimes that part of my brain just gets very tired. That’s why I cook. That’s why I garden. And now, that’s why I paint and draw.

If you work with words, what are your tricks for resting your brain? If you work in other ways, do you need a different kind of rest? 

**The first episode of Whitehall will be released in mid-May. Sign up for my newsletter if you want to be sure to be reminded when it begins.

http://writerunboxed.com/2016/02/24/the-delirious-delights-of-research/
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Things I love 2/365: stationary

https://www.flickr.com/photos/33037982@N04/3439173198/in/photolist-6eUEnC-71UDSe-9AqRd8-6L5uah-5nh7oi-5ioJUj-9AqR52-5ZcsaN-81Et1V-dmFhfw-EFFvP-dvKqa3-99ZHce-dvDQ3B-dmFbsK-dvDzHi-dvK9x5-dvDyEV-dJc6Ne-f8FT8v-5xgx1A-7qb257-niUaPG-bhxm18-5KhiH9-4wcMiq-dPcqJ1-4pmRux-fuayjr-6XcgY-k6TeEL-mHfy6U-6AK97H-4bEQzy-cCqxrL-PbqZy-9a2ccw-cCacbA-bxRwye-5wr2JY-6vJtE4-ec8Pp9-99Y2QP-xgv7-5SfZrZ-8QRfLH-578g6c-7bKo9j-7de1cU-79YWNSJust for the record, I make no promises whatsoever to make this a  consecutive 365 days of things I love. I just mean to get 365 days down in some way. This time, it happens to be two days in a row.

Today’s love is stationary. I was a world champion pen pal as a teen, and wrote hundred and hundreds of letters on beautiful paper. All kinds of paper, usually with matching envelopes, sometimes scented. I carried on a long correspondence with a woman named Paula, who lived on Long Island, and with a cousin who had to go to prison, and later, when I was in college, long letters between the man who would be the father of my children. He had/has great penmanship–quirky and elegant and calligraphic–and it won me over. I loved coming home from a long day of classes and opening the door of my Victorian apartment building to find a card that had been slipped through the gold mail slot on the floor. My name in that beautiful hand.  Often a card with a romantic theme.

I wrote back on paper I chose with great consideration at the local Hallmark store–paper with pianos at the top, or in many soft colors, on which I wrote with various colors of ink.  I once found a card with a drawing of an exuberant lion swinging from a tree swing, his mane flowing back from his smiling face, and it was so exactly how I thought of him that I bought it immediately.

We don’t correspond by letter any more, and I miss it.  I have boxes of letters from and to my grandmother, letters filled with the news of the time, women’s news, news of polio closing movie theaters and children fighting and subtle references to marriages that are challenged.  I once had a huge bag full of letters my best friend and I wrote back and forth every night for three years during junior high.  We folded them in a particular way and exchanged them upon meeting in the morning. They’re lost now, I am sorry to report.

I still love stationary and often want to buy it, but I don’t know who I would write to.

Did you ever have a pen pal?

 

This is an in-progress drawing that's been living on my desk the past week. It