I admit it. I only work from inspiration. None of that must-do-it-by-disciplined-routine at this point in my path. I’m not concerned with the technical aspects of making art, but making art from a point of joy, insight, excitement, enthusiasm, grief or loss. If it’s dull or boring to me I hesitate to inflict such on others.
Most often lately I first seek my file of quotable quotes and see which one sings to me and generates fleeting images at that moment. Other times I might be caught unawares by a singular experience—catching sight of something outside or inside yet seeing with a different perspective, maybe something surprising from a companion’s statement or some bit from the television. Sometimes I’ll seek the lyrics of a song or poem.
When lucky or particularly graced, the inspirational response is a warm and gentle wave moving up the front of my body followed by a tingle down the back and an ignition in my belly, a feeling of spark. This is what Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s poem “Belonging” did for me. The blades of grass field, green fuse, thrum, hum, trillions of blood cells, hundreds of thousands of notes in a symphony, a vast conversation, dust dancing in the light, being alive. I’m still working on the art (Alone Together) and will post it with the April Studio Practice: New Works.
Meanwhile, with permission to reprint from Trommer, here is the entire poem “Belonging” by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer:
we are alone together,
the way blades of grass
are alone, but exist as a field.
Sometimes I feel it,
the green fuse that ignites us,
the wild thrum that unites us,
an inner hum that reminds us
of our shared humanity.
Just as thirty-five trillion
red blood cells join in one body
to become one blood.
Just as one hundred and thirty-six thousand
notes make up one symphony.
Alone as we are, our small voices
weave into one big conversation.
Our actions are essential
to the one infinite story of what it is
to be alive. When we feel alone,
we belong to the grand communion
of those who sometimes feel alone--
we are the dust, the dust that hopes,
a rising of dust, a thrill of dust,
the dust that dances in the light
with all other dust, the dust that makes the world.
Most often lately I first seek my file of quotable quotes and see which one sings to me and generates fleeting images at that moment. Other times I might be caught unawares by a singular experience—catching sight of something outside or inside yet seeing with a different perspective, maybe something surprising from a companion’s statement or some bit from the television. Sometimes I’ll seek the lyrics of a song or poem.
When lucky or particularly graced, the inspirational response is a warm and gentle wave moving up the front of my body followed by a tingle down the back and an ignition in my belly, a feeling of spark. This is what Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s poem “Belonging” did for me. The blades of grass field, green fuse, thrum, hum, trillions of blood cells, hundreds of thousands of notes in a symphony, a vast conversation, dust dancing in the light, being alive. I’m still working on the art (Alone Together) and will post it with the April Studio Practice: New Works.
Meanwhile, with permission to reprint from Trommer, here is the entire poem “Belonging” by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer:
we are alone together,
the way blades of grass
are alone, but exist as a field.
Sometimes I feel it,
the green fuse that ignites us,
the wild thrum that unites us,
an inner hum that reminds us
of our shared humanity.
Just as thirty-five trillion
red blood cells join in one body
to become one blood.
Just as one hundred and thirty-six thousand
notes make up one symphony.
Alone as we are, our small voices
weave into one big conversation.
Our actions are essential
to the one infinite story of what it is
to be alive. When we feel alone,
we belong to the grand communion
of those who sometimes feel alone--
we are the dust, the dust that hopes,
a rising of dust, a thrill of dust,
the dust that dances in the light
with all other dust, the dust that makes the world.