for your consideration and mine

Repost of this set of goals. The older post has gotten infected by some spam engine of doom.

Some more goals:

A drawing that throbs with its own reckoning, Tell-Tale-Heart-style.

A drawing that breathes through its teeth, makes bad jokes and laughs at itself. That apologizes too often and second-guesses its intentions. Its lines are halting and unsure. It smells like milk and garlic.

A drawing that chops the water into black diamonds edged in gray. The color only comes if coaxed. It slides in on glass-smooth chips and takes its place between austere facets. It is a stifled giggle, a shred of music escaping the window of a passing car.

A drawing that shops at thrift stores and wears pants that I’m pretty sure are out of style. It might have a hole in the big toe of its sock. It might have a stye in its eye.

A drawing that just sits on its ass in a museum.

A drawing that rumbles like thunder, rimmed with trembling light and shivering in the sudden cold. Rivulets, downpours, wash-outs, sinkholes.

A drawing that tries to keep what has been lost—a lock of hair flattened along with its ribbon in an old book. It is preciously sentimental and adoringly useless. A voiceless specimen for an unnamed audience.

A drawing that offers a nauseatingly off-kilter missed-beat, back-beat, back-alley, skip-time record scratch. All the weight is thrown into the wrong corners. The open space is begging for a mark of any kind, sighing in its blankness, aching for new language—a pale steady hum held against the scratchiness of static.

A drawing that gets swallowed up by the earth when it opens up, finally. Rich loam and dark fragrance. Unopened seeds and insect eggs. Wandering roots like hair.

A drawing that makes it all okay—modern lines and mechanical curves. Everything has a place and everything in its place. A yoga topknot. Clean sheets. The right wine. Cute kids. Health insurance. A kitchen garden and herbs in a window box.

A drawing that tastes infinity at the edge of restless sleep and dives under the deep water with abandon bordering on recklessness. Impossibly indigo, beautifully black, Solaris’ circular windows. A swan dive, a breaststroke, a cruciform opening out and in at once.

(bonus image: a beautifully crowded Persian miniature)

2 thoughts on “for your consideration and mine”

  1. Gala, I really like these goals. They are drawings with compassion for themselves. I like the idea of giving your art the freedom and acceptance that lets it be itself-loved even though it might be awkward or too full of itself. This is encouragement to me to stop beating up the things I make. I do that a lot. I feel often towards my artwork like a parent that is embarrassed by its children and wants to distance herself from them, put them down, or brush them off as nothing. I will need to think more about why I do this. Thanks for the challenge to embrace art making in all its awkward, pretentious, profound and beautiful glory. : )

    1. Yes, yes! Someone just gave me a quote from Karen Blixen (Isak Dinesen): “Write a little every day, without hope, without despair.” I like to think of that in terms of drawing/painting, too. Both hope and despair are so present in the process of making, however, and I think that’s what this poem list is about. If we are too taken by either extreme, we tend to burn out on the discipline of doing it. Which is why I love that Blixen quote. All the best to you!

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