I keep a commonplace book/journal that holds thoughts, quotes and the occasional drawing.
(Stop laughing, those of you who know I cannot draw a straight line.) (Seriously. I mean it. You're distracting me from telling my story.)
Anyway, I've been trying to paint, just to stretch myself, and for each thing I paint I write a poem. Again, a disclaimer. I am not an artist. But something about taking time to focus on something long enough to paint it lights my desire to use words to describe it. So I'm stretching myself. It's good for me. (It might be good for you, too, this mix of the visual and the verbal?)
I like the way things with words turn out better than the things with paint. But I keep on. And I wanted to share with you the most recent entry. Here is the painting:
Here is the poem:
Do spotted hens
lay speckled eggs
that nest between
their spindly legs?
And do those chicks
have spots that match
the speckled eggs
from which they hatch?
And do their moms,
those spotted hens,
grow dizzy when
a hatch begins
and spots begin
to blur and mix
into a bunch
of scrambled chicks?
--Kristy Dempsey (all rights reserved)
In other news, I am loving my job as a librarian and creative writing teacher and feel like I am reaching in all the ways I need to. But I'd love to know how you all feel you're stretching too. I need to be reminded I'm not in this yoga class alone. :) Add a Comment