Some mornings doodles appear and then when a different feeling bubble up, a poem appears. This one came about while I was looking over the diary entries from studio sessions, the words often provoke the images that appear as paintings. I liked the concepts of trying to "mine what's mine", I like the play of words.
The image that appeared was of a figure diving into the submerged aspect of herself, the ocean perhaps where our buried treasure exists. In the caves of our deep subconscious, the ancient language of Art resides.
Mining the Ocean Self
How to mine the mine of me,
Without trawling through the past.
Dredging the debris of unsatisfactory lessons.
Sharps that lie discarded
risk nicking my soft underbelly,
reinfecting fading memories.
There is a rich soil there,
years of descending moments that settle,
and accumulate,
like the squidgy, soft ocean floor that squeezes between your toes,
with each tentative step.
Each grain a concentrate of time.
Within this unfathomable darkness,
Inspiration pulses,
Quick to surface, ready to breathe.
What lies beneath,
Is you.
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