Send in the clowns

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother--- they're here.

From  ' A Little Night Music,' by Stephen Sondheim.

I spent the weekend at my elderly mother's house a couple of hours from here, tending to her and tidying up her house. In the process, I found a box of letters I'd sent to her, from age 17, when I went to college, to my late 30's. Now THAT'LL make you think, the rereading of letters from your younger, naïver self. There were letters that announced the beginnings of love affairs, that anticipated with delirious joy the same marriage whose abrupt ending was to be tersely and defensively discussed in a letter several years later, letters that told of pregnancies, of the antics of children,  of moves to foreign countries. My voice was by turns exuberant, anxious, hopeful, disappointed, confident, devastated.
And, at at time when I simply CANNOT paint ONE SINGLE THING (yes, it's happening again) how comforting and disconcerting all at once to read this excerpt from a letter written to my mother in 1982:
'My painting is going well. I'm thrilled. At last the gap between what I want to do in paint and what I can do is narrowing.'

So, though I know it already, by heart, the letter tells me that icky painting times such as the one I've been experiencing do end. You just have to  keep on working. I'm not going to show you the hideosities I've been producing in the studio of late, but I could, you know.  I could.

I do have something, some recent sketches, among which is a quick drawing of my mother-in-law, Grace.  I'm trying so hard to keep those clowns at bay for as long as I can.

Comments

[marlyat2]

It's that old believe-in-the-dark-what-you-knew-in-the-light thing...

[Laura]

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, good friends, for your warm words. I know this awkward time will pass---they come and go. I just have to have patience and faith, which I do. Mostly.
Larry, that's a wonderful idea. I'll see if I can weave parts of those letters in and out of this story line.

[Jenn @ Juggling Life]

I came from your comment on The Poet Laura-eate. Your work is amazing.

[The Poet Laura-eate]

You might enjoy my cartoonist friend Jeremy's observations (and comic strip) on finding a box of old angst-ridden letters from her teenagehood recently. Sublime!
http://cleanskies.livejournal.com/432936.html

Loved your posting by the way, particularly the poignant artwork. I wish I could draw!

[Lori Witzel]

Dry spells do come and sit for a spell, especially among productive creative souls.

I'd suggest taking your dry spell for a picnic among the draggin'-flies, or set a candlelight dinner for the dry spell with a nice dry red wine...I find mine enjoy the diversion, and once diverted they often wander off.

:-)

[Katherine]

How wonderful that your mother saved all those letters. Don't you think you grow inside yourself when you read your doings and thoughts at a younger age and realise all the things that you've learned and all the wisdom you've gained since then?

Like knowing, with certainty, that all things must pass.

For myself, I've always thought that making a mess of things when painting is a bit like being a three year old again. You know - when your brain knows what it wants to do but the motor skills haven't quite caught up. So you practice - and then one day, quite unexpectedly, you ZOOM off in a new direction!