I spent two weekends recently attending workshops. One was on abstracting the painted figure and the other on becoming a published writer. Both were very interesting. What we don’t know about the process or about ourselves makes all of it worthwhile.
I realized I am not interested in being either. I don’t see the way they do, in the painting workshop, plains and angles are a foreign country. I see mass, volume, density and negative space.
I spent that weekend using my left hand to paint. It was a good exercise in motor control, and in making your brain work a different path.
The writer’s workshop, WELL how could anyone feel justified in betraying their friend to make the narrative of the book more interesting? That too is outside of my comfort zone. Oh he did have good reason, but his friend has not spoken to him since. Is that journey less than the sum of its parts?
I have been reading concurrently two books, The Brain that Changes Itself and When Breath Becomes Air. They both speak to me in different ways, we have the gift to change how we think and we have the gift to choose how we think. That sounds very much the same doesn’t it, but it is all to do with degrees and attitude.
I finished When Breath Becomes Air today, written by Paul Kalanithi.