Not sure what's going on. Since noon yesterday, I haven't written a single word in my journal. And LOTS has been going on. The sort of stuff I normally feel compelled to capture in some sort of written fashion--to sort it out, make sense, wonder.
But no. Since yesterday's painting, with the black squiggly "letters" at the end, I have not been able to pick up my journal. It almost feels like when you try to put the "wrong" sides of two magnets together--you'd swear something invisible was getting in the way of those two magnets making contact.
As soon as I thought of today's painting, I knew it would be more black squiggles.
I just "listened," and then painted.
Had to have a background--blue for endless sky. Painted it horizontally on the page. When I picked up my rigger and carbon black ink and was ready to "write," I knew to turn the page a quarter-turn. I'd thought the horizontal lines in the sky color would be the lines I'd write along.
Turns out I was supposed to write in columns, between vertical lines.
I did most of the writing in one sitting. Went back a few hours later, looked at it,
and then added a few dots and a couple very short lines.
I have NO CLUE what it "says." I just know that I look at it and feel comforted.
I am way into unfamiliar territory right now. I would have thought I'd feel adrift without writing in my journal, especially since some very significant things have happened in the last 24 hours.
But for right now, painting in a non-verbal style of expression is profoundly moving to me.
Maybe I'm nuts. Maybe not. But I sure feel something deep down,
that is brandnew and wonderful.
That's good enough for me.