Morning Mist
Stillwell, Ohio The White Page and Blank Canvas
A few reflection quieries about our creating.
Before the pen begins to write and the brush to stroke, there is a time of gestation, an unknown period of carrying and bearing a mystery, a wisp of wind, a ray of light, the wonder of a color, a pattern or a vision of chaos. We carry all this. We bear all this, often without knowing. And then slowly we imagine the beautiful white page or white canvas filling with strings of words and strokes of color or the heft of clay becoming a shape.
“Oh Mystery you are everywhere” (Paul Winter) How could this time of gestation and movement into creating be described, lightly touched with hints, in our own personal way?
As this Mystery becomes visible, colorful, three dimensional, what words, no matter how inadequate, would give others, clues of our experience of creating?
What happens within, that conveys that sense, “It is finished, for now,” “I have come to a stopping place,” or simply “Stop?”
And once you have put away your pen and cleaned the brushes, how does this mystery you have brought to life, live within you and continue to shape and form your life?
A few reflection quieries about our creating.
Before the pen begins to write and the brush to stroke, there is a time of gestation, an unknown period of carrying and bearing a mystery, a wisp of wind, a ray of light, the wonder of a color, a pattern or a vision of chaos. We carry all this. We bear all this, often without knowing. And then slowly we imagine the beautiful white page or white canvas filling with strings of words and strokes of color or the heft of clay becoming a shape.
“Oh Mystery you are everywhere” (Paul Winter) How could this time of gestation and movement into creating be described, lightly touched with hints, in our own personal way?
As this Mystery becomes visible, colorful, three dimensional, what words, no matter how inadequate, would give others, clues of our experience of creating?
What happens within, that conveys that sense, “It is finished, for now,” “I have come to a stopping place,” or simply “Stop?”
And once you have put away your pen and cleaned the brushes, how does this mystery you have brought to life, live within you and continue to shape and form your life?
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