Repeatedly, and with great enthusiasm...

The image above is a close-up of the background of a painting I am currently working on.  It is about 3' wide and 4' tall and is entirely composed of 1/8" wide strips of magazine clippings.  No dots!  It has been a strange experience cutting out all of these words, handling them, gluing them to the panel.  I end up reading each phrase about three or four times.  It seems I am not able to treat the paper strips as merely paper strips.  And I have found myself impacted by these words.  Each string of syllables leads me on a new train of thought.  And sometimes they combine beautifully.  Several times I have been tempted to monitor my progress and jot down some of the serendipitous language.  But I was afraid I would ruin both the experience and the painting if I tried to juggle another element.  

One day as I was working, a woman was watching me and asked me somewhat incredulously, "So, are you really just making a picture out of all those words?"  Without ever taking my eyes from my work, I answered her, "Yes."  And then I noticed that the strip of paper I was gluing down said, "Yeah, it's really that simple."  Coincidence?  I don't know about that.

I started looking at each strip even more intently and playing a little game with myself as I glued.  At one point I was thinking about the stories I had been writing about my mother, thinking about how my mind had turned down that path after having shunned it for so many years, and noticed that the strip in my fingers said, "It just began to unravel one day."

Another time I was thinking about a story I had read about a young man who drowned and remained in a vegetative state for several weeks.  The phrase I glued down next read, "Still clinging on desperately."  As usual, once I get into a piece of art, I am often overcome with self doubt.  And not surprisingly, the words that appeared in my fingers at that moment were, "How did you decide to take on this project?"

So this canvas has been and continues to be an adventure.  Sometimes it is truly more provocative than recursive.  For example, yesterday I walked to my studio to work for a few hours.  Along the way I thought of many things.  Personal things.  Things personal to me and some personal to others.  I enjoyed the beautiful weather and the invigorating walk, but I was a little down by the time I arrived at the warehouse.  I just had a lot on my mind and couldn't seem to make satisfactory decisions about things.  As I sat down and rifled through my word strips, I prepared myself to find clarity in the text.  The first strip I picked up said, "And of course the worst thing..."  

At first I was disappointed.  This wasn't an answer.  But then I started to think about it all.  What is the worst thing that could happen?  Death?  No.  My mind immediately rejected that.  I have no special fear of death.  I fear much more my ability to deal with the deaths of those I love.  So what is the worst thing?  I don't know.  And I don't think it is even valid to ask such a question, to ponder such possibilities.  I was reminded of the birth of my children.  And I can tell you that anyone who has opted for a natural delivery has learned what it means to live in the present moment!  I mean, you can stand any amount of pain for a second at a time.  And life is made very simply of one second stacked on top of the next and the next and the next.

I shared this revelation, my startling discovery of each moment, with one of my students several years ago.  We discussed how this idea could impact the writing process.  A few days later, I saw her sitting in our creative writing classroom, smiling quite peacefully and I asked her what she was thinking about.  She said, "Just thinking about this moment, and this one, and this one..." 

So, remembering this allowed me to let go of the tension that had been weighing me down.  I thought about walking to the studio, one foot in front of the other.  The beauty of each step.  The ability to pull one leg forward and then the next, almost without conscious thought.  The rhythm of life surrounding me along the way.  The incredible array of choices I made along that short journey to connect to or remain separate from the world around me.

It is so easy to get bogged down in the self-important seconds of our lives.  And it is just as easy to lay it aside for one second at a time.  As easy as taking off my backpack when I arrived back home.  As easy as gluing tiny strips of paper onto a canvas to create an image that will make people wonder why I did it for years to come.  As easy as becoming momentarily weightless with joy one second at a time.  Repeatedly and with great enthusiasm...