More pages from the Sketchbook. 5 and 6
What I Learned in My Sketchbook
1 I'm
1 forever
2 the captive
3 of words. Note
5 I said captive, not captor.
1 I
1 thought
2 I could
3 do collage, use
5 foreign postage, try alphabet stamps.
1. It
1 isn't
2 happening. I
3 started well but
5 the narrative caught me, this
8 narrative, mine, the one about Daddy's death and
13 crying when I met my new brother who is very kind and looks
21 more like my father than anyone else in the family. And cancer; my cancer's in there a bit ("think of it
34 as a splinter") and the little dog who laughs and the big dog who plows the snow, and Amy who died. It's my persistent narrative, the one I will repeat in art, postcards, large
55 collages, sketchbook projects, photographs; and, now again, even words.
For a long while, writing stalled. I wasn't so much empty as flooded with themes and phrases. Two years of art, textiles, touch, and we're reaching rapprochement, words and I, a space and time continuum where paint, fiber, charcoal, words all can serve the coming tempest.
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