Poems and Paintings
Last night we went into Ashland to meet friends for Thai food and a poetry reading by Robert Pinsky which was very entertaining and thought provoking. I remembered to take my pocket sketch book and did a little pen drawing of the women sitting in front of us while we waited for the program to begin. Maybe you think I would always do this, since I am an artist, but truthfully, I feel like I am just starting to get into the swing of being a 2-D artist instead of making sculpture. A 20+ year way of thinking is hard to adjust, but I’m enjoying seeing the shift.
The last poetry reading we attended was by Ted Kooser and hearing him read the poem below resulted in the little picture after it.
Slap of the screen door, flat knock of my grandmother's boxy black shoes on the wooden stoop, the hush and sweep of her knob-kneed, cotton-aproned stride out to the edge and then, toed in with a furious twist and heave, a bridge that leaps from her hot red hands and hangs there shining for fifty years over the mystified chickens, over the swaying nettles, the ragweed, the clay slope down to the creek, over the redwing blackbirds in the tops of the willows, a glorious rainbow with an empty dishpan swinging at one end.
Must go paint, or ??…