But this is NOT the case with the poems. My poems are not the same. Not even. But I still wrote some kick ass poems back then. Good greatness of gods it's been so long. Back in the house we built. Back on the farm. Back in another life.
I am returning to that life in way. The visual. The drawing the painting. I haven't done this work in ten years. I have been thinking and thinking of doing it again, for a long time. So I set my satchel down Sunday for a butt load of supplies. I've got six new, LARGE canvases. I am ready to roll.
And it is interesting to note, that the art, the sketching, was there all through my growing up. Then the words. Then the art with the words. Always drawing my girls. With a certain self-consciousness. I never felt that with words. I pretty much knew I was the saving grace for the world of letters when I was twelve years old. But I never had the same confidence in my art, though I loved doing it.
I do have enough dogged confidence to hang pieces about my house. The wild girl is ENORMOUS and a few years ago, in a fit of manic chutzpah, I had her framed at great expense and she hangs in the center wall of our small living room, a testament to my own ego, or so it seems to me. She is a version of all the girls I drew through all the years. She is charcoal on brown package paper. The painting is the only one I've done except for one impossibly weird thing I need to put my mind to and finish. Or black over and kill. The other charcoal is what may be a portrait of my first husband. I am not sure.
Of course, there are words to be done. Jubliat is taking a poem which got me burbling poetry. And Luna Luna is taking a piece and I may be writing for them on a regular basis. I hope. When journals pick things up, I always get renewed and interested, those shots in the arms and ears.
Now I will draw for a while, see what floats up to the surface.