November 15, 2014
My lover, creature of the written word gushing with instinctive heartbeats straight from the arteries of feeling, always in stream of consciousness on pages filled by the minute, told me at one point he cannot understand how someone like Vermeer would work for months to create a single painting. Because, surely, the initial emotion, the original impulse, would’ve long waned.
I never replied- incentives of his physical closeness distracted me.
But as I was recently talking to my muse about an elaborate composition she was planning to start well aware it might take weeks to perfect, an idea became clear to me that the artistic process by which we write – or draw – or sculpt – or compose is a timeless container of the inner state we want our creation to convey.
So during the interval between the first and last brushstroke our primary inspiration is preserved and can…
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