And paint Frippery did. And draw. And paint, and draw, paint and draw and paint until the goose in her stew began to unravel itself.
"Rupture and repair," she tried her Nonesuch's adopted mantra. Well one of them....she had a few of her own -- some were not fit for print at all....All the while she knew that Nonesuch was off in his studio working. Working for them. Boy, she just wanted to run away from that word.
Work. Work. That four letter word. It was a mantra in and of itself.
Sometimes Frippery thought that when she worked she had a mantra-guide that worked through her. Her brush or hands. It could see behind walls, through people and the masks they wore....always she dared herself to paint dangerously. After all it was just paint and paper, much of it she stuffed under her mattress. Then again, there were at least two sides to each side of paper. She admitted sometimes she saw just what she wanted to see and sometimes, what she wanted to see hidden. But, out it would come.
She was hard pressed to admit that maybe life was more about the process along the way. Maybe she thought too much. She would think about that too. But how do you not think? That was unthinkable.
The ark had opened too wide to close it now. Boy! Life could get wirey, yes wirey to her way of thinking. Especially when she turned her art on herself....one man's art is another man's woodpile she wondered a loud to herself, guess that was why it took so many people to make a planet. Now where was that wire?
Oh, Tidy, thy beauty is so fine.
No comments:
Post a Comment