Sometimes I feel like my mind is a pinball machine. These perfect, shiny ideas come flying into it top-speed from the void of the unconscious and proceed to smack around against all manner of compartments… creativity bonus BING 500 points!… entrepreneurial zone ZAP 1000 points! …practical application ramp THWICK… propelling that ball up to the notebook safe zone KERPLUNK! where I can store it for use later on when I’m out of balls.
And this is why I carry all manner of notebooks with me. At this very moment, there’s one in my purse, one in the front room, one in the office, a traveling sketchbook that is usually in the car or on my desk in a pile on top THREE other notepads. Yep. They’re like tribbles. They’re everywhere, and each time you look there are more, and you can’t bring yourself to throw them away because they’re so darn cute. Well, at least it’s something like that. Now you know that I am a Star Trek nerd as well as a lover of arcade games, and also that my brain primarily functions in “metaphor/simile” mode. Fun fact: I collect dictionaries! Really. I really do.
So, today while I was driving to work and it was foggy and hazy blue, some words and color inspirations came pinging in to that quarter-trap up there, and luckily I was able to write while driving (safely, only in the trafficky parts).
The gray blue, poppy red of the tail lights and silhouette images stayed with me all day. When I started this evening, the memory of Rorschach and ink hadn’t left me either. It’s actually been trapped up there for a couple of months. And I have that lovely slate blue liquid watercolor I so enjoy. So I grabbed a couple more pages from Capote’s book, this time from “The Muses Are Heard” in honor of the decision to finally do something with this ink blot thing. These two were rejected:
And the other was slapped on to a small canvas. The blue was much brighter to begin with, and I toned it down with medium and some white paint. I set it to landscape orientation so that the words wouldn’t be legible right off and wouldn’t distract too much. A splash of water and some tissue lifted the white glaze to show more blue. I wanted the feeling of droplets like I’d had this morning; the words “rivulet” and “amalgamation” had stuck in my brain and I think all of that somehow made it into this piece.
P.S. If you’re worried about the merciless slaughter of a classic book for the purpose of harvesting its pages as art supplies, this is what it looks like. It’s fairly thrashed, and I think Truman’s eyes are saying, “Do you honestly think I would concern myself with your blathering on? Where is that martini?!” So I’ve decided he’s cool with it.