Surrounded by Introducing Fractal Geometry and May Sarton’s Journal of a Solitude, Julia Cameron’s The Sound of Paper sits amongst an elite stash of books which grace the backside of my desk work surface. Picking it up, I opened its pages to where I last placed a 2004 Barnes & Noble bookmark and began reading.
Searching for words to cup a myriad of incoherent and vague thoughts swarming about my heat-wave induced spacey-brain, I came across practical encouragement in my current state of conundrum. That state of wild productivity amidst desperate isolation, struggling to finish projects that are taking on the shape of completion.
Oh – so – slow – ly.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say my ‘Mojo stopped Mojoing’ but I have come up wanting in the energy department of late. The constant drain of daily in-ing and out-ing in this humid triple digit heat has taken its toll. The term languid suggests more than a glamourous lady lounging alongside the pool with margarita in hand to weather the weather. It conjures up a wild-eyed mad-hatter creative, scurrying from instruments to computer to manuscript paper to WORD documents to notebooks to research to pacing to exercise machines to eating tons of watermelon to striving to keep cool to…ad infinitum.
Oh – so – slow – ly.
See here the fruit of my labors.
A set of potholders made from fabric purchased some 21 years ago.
Yes, I have completed significant sections of my Swimming with Swans project in both the writing and music aspects. I have begun revising, rewriting and threading together vignettes. I have reviewed stacks of compositions. Some I thought were better in memory than in reality and others ended up better in reality than in memory. I have most of my instrumental parts ready to record, just no local duo partners around to lay down their respective tracks. These are obstacles, yes, but all projects are wrought with those in varying degrees and stripes. There’s no real way of sharing details with anyone until it’s done, recorded, published and in the can so to speak.
However, potholders I can share.
Sewn recently from fabric bought at Fabricland in Cupertino, CA right off of Stevens Creek Blvd during a visit back to the Bay area* in 1994 and like the book I’d stopped reading in 2004, but then re-discovered in 2015, here they are: surrogate evidence of my creative output.
When we seek those friendly to our art, we seek those compassionate to its process. When they ask, ‘How is it going?’ the answer can be more than a litany of recent wins.
I have a friend, Bernice, who is friendly toward my music. When we talk, she inquires about my music the way one might inquire of a child’s health. ‘And how is your music, Julia?’ Bernice will say. ‘I feel like it comes from some high, fine place. Are you writing any music of the Southwest?’
The very question sets me humming. (from: The Sound of Paper, by Julia Cameron)
Me, too, Julia.
*hubby, me and our first child lived in San Jose, CA from February 1982 – July 1984