Truly Powerful People (474)

474.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

When I was a kid I used to draw the same cabin nestled in the same meadow next to the same tree. I became an expert at drawing that place. It was imagined. I never saw that cabin in that meadow by that tree but I liked going there. So, I drew it again and again and again.

As I drew, I allowed my imagination to fill in details and over time my imagining became sensual and specific. It was a log cabin and the tree rings were visible at the end of each log. I counted the rings. I ran my fingers over them, weathered and cracked, they told me that the cabin was built in another time, a time before electricity and power tools. My cabin was made of some very fine old guardians! There was a particular knot in the wood next to the doorframe. I loved the way the place smelled. There was a small porch and I could stand on that porch for hours. I can still feel the texture of the wood beneath my fingers, the creak of wood beneath my feet. Often, in my mind, I ran my hand along the logs, tracing the path from corner to window, window to door.

My favorite spot (it was the point of view of the drawings) was just beyond the tree. It was the place I could sit and look across the meadow to the cabin. The tree was very old and wise and I liked sitting beneath it. I liked walking through the leaves in the fall. It must have been an oak tree though I didn’t know that when I was drawing it. I sat there for hours and imagined my life as I lived in the woods. I liked the quiet of the place. I liked the wind moving through the trees, the rustle of the grasses, the symphony of bird and insect musicians. I was a boy Thoreau.

It is a place as rich and specific as any place I’ve visited outside of my imagination (if that is possible). Earlier today I read this phrase in a story from Patricia: “art is the only thing that makes sense to me…,” and it brought me up short. As I rethink my life I am revisiting my past and that is why I visited my cabin. It’s been a long time. And as I sat on the porch, remembering, I know that for me it is also true: art is the only thing that makes sense to me; it is the only way I know to make sense of the world.

One Response

  1. this is beautiful, I sent it on to Liisa, who said that as I entered her studio. We embrace and circle each other, a nice hug.

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