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Wednesday, October 2, 2013

A Quiet Moment with Georgina and Pearl

I have taken the bus to George’s place, a self-sufficient set of rooms in an old building with high ceilings and interesting neighbors.

The bus line is a mix of people who wear business suits and expensive shoes and people who wear striped socks and miniskirts, ironically tragic velour tracksuits and Rasta hats.

I stare, absentmindedly, at Rasta Mon, thinking about how much I would like a nap.  I do not realize how much I have been staring at him until he de-buses, but not before slipping me his phone number.

Hmm. 

George  greets me at the door, leads me to her rooms.

She has been using the lid of a giant tub of laundry detergent as a palette, multiple blues, whites, black and red daubs of dried oil paints have dried in excited, creationist splotches.  I push aside a sweater, take a seat.

George has been creating moods.

“What’s going on here?” I say.

George raises her eyebrows.

“The one on the left looks submissive,” I say. 



George nods.  “And perhaps a bit accepting, right?  Like this is something she’s known all along.”

“Well, look at her,” I say.  “The chick in red, she’s won; and somewhere along the line, the one in the tank top always knew she would.”

George tilts her head to one side, scrutinizes the painting.

“Are they a couple?” I ask.

George shrugs.  “I don’t know,” she says, finally.  “Red Dress seems to be kind of possessive of her.  Makes ya wonder.”

I squint at George.  “You didn’t know if they were a couple when you started painting?”

George shakes her head.  “I start out with an idea, but I can’t control where it goes sometimes, you know?”

“But what’s it all mean?”

She shakes her head again.  “I’m not sure yet.”

“That happens to me,” I say.  “I start writing something, and where it ends is rarely how I thought it would.”

“That’s interesting,” George says.  “I would think that someone who works with words would have some sort of control over them.”

I laugh.  “And I would think someone who works with oil paints would be using something other than the lid of a detergent bucket as a palette.”

George shakes her head.  “Sometimes,” she says, “I wonder if I’ll ever be fully self-aware.”


I nod.  “I know exactly what you’re saying.”

33 comments:

Shelly said...

You, my friend, write with the wondrous palette of a Picasso. And I think Rasta man in the velour tracksuit was on my flight home a few days ago...

joeh said...

Interesting, I often start with an idea, and end up going a totally different direction.

Did you call that rasta number? My guess is it will cost you $2 a minute. Those rasta guys usually have an angle.

Pearl said...

Shelly! Little Miss Traveler! Welcome back. And yes: I now have a Rasta boyfriend. :-)

joeh, oh, very funny. :-)

Simply Suthern said...

I usually start with something that doent work and pray I get an idea.

I think the Painting says "Lucy, You got some splaining to do"

But thats me.

Flea said...

The one in the tank looks sad. Like she's realized something and isn't happy. Her expression is heartbreaking in it's resignation.
www.dogtreatweb.com

Indigo Roth said...

Very wise words, ma'am. Stories have a life of their own.

I remember the first time I saw that painting, and immediately thought of BSDM lesbians*; for me the vibe was unmistakeable. Interesting that George wasn't sure.

[* Never far from my thoughts, to be fair]

Dawn@Lighten Up! said...

“I start out with an idea, but I can’t control where it goes sometimes, you know?”
George has just summed up my writing process.
George has just summed up my entire life.
(Oh, and Ell-oh-ell at Indigo!)

jenny_o said...

I think Blue Pants just told Red Dress that somebody did something unkind to her, and Red Dress just replied that she would "take care of it". In an illegal sort of way. And enjoy it.

About the writing process - I am amazed that you writers are saying your work isn't a complete idea before you begin. Not being a writer, but certainly admiring of you who do it and do it well, I'm always curious how the process goes.

Pearl said...

THey say that "the writing teaches you". Personally, I'm always surprised by how what I start with is not what I finish with. With fiction, just a word or two can knock the story sideways. With "reality", I often find that, upon reflection, my first instinct was actually covering for a deeper emotion.

That, and sometimes I run out of time.

:-)

Delores said...

You can't be creative and 'self aware'...it gets in the road.

jenny_o said...

I'm still amazed - maybe more than before, if that's possible :)

Mandy_Fish said...

Love this.

Douglas said...

They say a picture is worth a thousand words... you're about 500 short.

Joanne Noragon said...

Sometimes you have a destination; sometimes you miss the stop and go to the end of the line.

Buttons said...

Oh Pearl that is what I LOVE about your writing and thinking we and apparently you never know where it will go. Isn't being a writer incredible. I am going to find me a detergent bucket and give that art a whirl you should too never know where you will end up apparently those artists think the same. Great post.B

Geo. said...

Contemplative post! Everything I have ever written started out to be about bratwurst but got sidetracked within moments of beginning.

annie said...

Your blog makes me smile. That is a very good thing.

Launna said...

I totally understand what you are saying... there are times when I just have to write and it spills out... then times I sit down with an idea and something totally different comes out... :)

maurcheen said...

You always make me grin missus!

I love Georgina's painting, makes me want to put colour to canvas again. :¬)

xxx

Leenie said...

The mark of a good piece of art/literature/music/dance is it sparks more imagination and can be understood in many different ways. By the comments I'd say George's work and yours both meet that mark. As for a lid pallet--great idea! Solid yet disposable and could probably could stand alone as an expressionist masterpiece.

Gigi said...

I NEVER know where I'm going to end up; whether I'm writing, talking, driving, etc. It doesn't matter - I always end up somewhere totally unexpected.

And that's what I love about you. And George. You are my kind of people.

Al Penwasser said...

I'm with you when I write. I very often end up somewhere I didn't plan on.
Like getting on a subway drunk.

HermanTurnip said...

I can only afford to be self aware enough to not miss the toilet. Anything after that and I'm just asking to sprain something...

~Sia McKye~ said...

Yep, I start one place with an idea and poof, it takes on a life of it's own and generally turns right and goes up the hill and through the woods when I visioned left and down to harbor, lol!

Interesting picture with quite an extensive dialog attached.

Sia McKye Over Coffee

Jo-Anne Meadows said...

Self awareness is over rated......I think but I maybe wrong, I often am wrong and I am no were near as funny as you.....

Elephant's Child said...

I am in awe. Deep in awe.

Weekend-Windup said...

Beautiful story...

River said...

I don't think anyone will ever be fully self-aware. Life holds too many variables.
George's painting is really good.

Mitchell is Moving said...

Fully self-aware? Is that even possible? (And, if it is, would we REALLY want it?)

HOOTIN ANNI said...

Hat off to you. Both of you actually!! Your talents, tho in different genres, are absolutely mind boggling good.


bravissimo


There, that's a word for you. Perhaps you can mingle that one into a great story line!!

vanilla said...

Now there is a conversation between two really talented artists!

Daisy said...

My writing quite often takes me in a direction I hadn't first intended to go as well.

The gal in the red dress looks like she has kind of an "I told you so" look on her face. The white tank gal has a sad face like she's just realized she was mistaken about something.

Diane Tolley said...

I'm always most surprised at where my stories end up. I often wonder if I really had anything to do with it. Why don't I leave a blank sheet of paper in the printer and come back when it's done . . .