The Sound of Rain
September 11, 2009 by Janice
I woke up to the sound of rain. Taps at my window became a temporary torrent.
Perfect. I smiled.
My thoughts found themselves nestled in a hull that gently rocks. My mind’s ear heard water landing on furled canvas. If I stretched just a little I might even hear a buoy, a halyard or a gull. In my mind’s little archive of sound.
Even better I thought to myself.
I snuggled in just for a moment longer.
One of my favorite things.
But the morning calls. What would I write?
Maintenance. Grunt work. Sorting through pigments. Finishing up this and that.
Not exactly show material is it?
Especially on a morning like this, when clouds hold back the light in a soft cocoon of damp and drizzle.
I love it.
A cup of Chai is needed.
And as I walked past, I pulled out that little bundle on my shelf.
Of notes and sketches and the log.
Mmm. Perfect. The Sea of Cortez.
I paused just then, drifted away to a universe without words. It happens. Every time. Just the cover of the book does it to me. I am letting a film run, savoring. Feeling timelessness. Past, present, future.
Discovery.
Takes lots of room. And letting go.
Structure too if you’re after something by design.
Which is how I have decided to treat the “scribble” work. Setting it up as location work. Provisioning. Charting time, possible ports of call. But mostly understanding that I am setting up an interior exploration. I’ve been looking at music for it too. And yesterday, took another glance at Miro’s own constellations. And who do I find plopped right there on the Cote D’Azur with Miro? Ellington. Improvising this: Blues for Miro….all about improvisation. Miro spoke in French, Ellington in English. Neither understanding each other’s words. Words were not really needed. So I am putting them both in some way into that little bundle I am making. Little bits to enjoy, to keep me company. To go with the Quiet Nights from Krall.
It’s much more tangible like this for me. Making a “location bundle”. Provisioning. It’s a ruse, a trick, a bribe. To get myself to these pieces that are pure marks and color and what’s inside. Never gone public with those. Never made these into real. Just sketches and thoughts, sounds turned to color, touch turned to marks…
thoughts nestled in hulls that rock,
an interior film running.
Accessed by touch points in my heart.
Scary.
Really scary. In that where the hell am I going, dunno, but I am packing the boat pulling out some charts, and going there anyway…
Because it scares, excites and makes me feel delicious all at the same time.
It makes me feel like me.
The feel of those marks is so real, so almost tangible that I can hear them, feel them and I want to touch them into being. I want to go on location with these.
I woke up to the sound of rain this morning.
And it brought me here to this. A little bit more back to me. But slightly different.
And that deserves another cup of tea while I read a few pages, plot some ports of call…
The sound of rain. Takes me to a special place. Now… let me get to work..
See you later for Margaritas? You bet. Tall chilled Naughty ones…right?
Have a good weekend.
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5 Responses to “The Sound of Rain”
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I just wanted to say that wow, I love the way you write – you’re truly an artist with words!
I love the sound of rain because for me…it brings back memories of my childhood when I’d hike the woods with me doggies. Great times.
Jan, I hope that one day these works of art with words will be put into a book that I can open and enjoy again and again. Ellington, Miro, raindrops, *sigh* I am leaning into that feeling and calling it a good Monday.
Hi Barbara,
Thank you. I have an all time favorite sensory memory too of a faun colored English boxer, a forest and evergreen needles dripping with rain and scent… Absolutely great times.
Always good to see you here. I am smiling at our doggie memories..:)
Karen,
Thank you. Now that would be a fine thing all round… a lovely book, and a good Monday. All good. Lean right in.
[...] The Sound of Rain – Janice Cartier’s writing always sings. Somehow she even makes melancholy magical. [...]