my language

It’s summer. It’s time to forget, daydream, act on a whim. But blog? Hmmmm. It’s been awhile.

But yes, midst my forgetting, my daydreaming, my acting on whims… I have been playing. Playing with color and layers and shapes and… Yeah. Playing with my art stuff.

And while I’ve been moving this here and attaching that there, I’ve been privy to some intriguing conversations. One subject that has arisen more than once is the discussion of languages. And in that discussion of languages, there is an appreciation for the world that each language presents.

No language can be directly interpreted into another. Each is a way of thinking. Each is about it’s own understanding of place in time.

A number of years ago, I recall reading a piece that Joan Snyder wrote about her art when she was well into her career. She had finally returned to her studio after a long hiatus. She described picking up painting again as relatively easy because she had really developed her language. I was intrigued at that idea: her own language.

Yet, it makes sense. As I fortuitously selected a few silk rolls that now inhabit my work space – remnants from another art piece , I realized, yes, these are part of my vocabulary. Along with those layers that happen again and again. And the recurring horse that began as the symbol of our unruly minds ( a Buddhist metaphor).

I see it now. Midst the forgetting, daydreaming and whims of summer, all this persists. Describing my world: ever changing. Always morphing.

I’m constantly communicating. In my language. To you.