Interruptions

I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

I picked up a dusty book in the garage today that was lying in a pile of stuff I plan to donate to the SPCA .

I remember the story distinctly because when I read it I could relate to it so well. The main character in the book is a musician, a composer. On a remote island, she struggles for her artistic life in the midst of a relationship gone dangerously wrong.

At the time I read the book the similarity between my life and that of the musician ended in the last few pages of the book . The character broke away from her hell and became successful and happy.

There is a passage in which the author describes the process of creating a piece of music. At the time his comparison could be likened to that of many creative processes, whether they are poetry, music or painting. This description I found extremely accurate and once having read the passage was better able to describe my creative process to people who asked.

An idea takes root and won’t let you go. It puts out twigs and branches. These twigs get leaves, thorns, blossoms and fruit and occasionally you get fruit to sustain you. The problem is the idea must appear at the right time, you can only carry so much in your head until the next time you come across brush and canvas. The kids must be at school, the washing and dishes done and God knows what else.

When it’s going well, there is a joy about it . You lose touch with the world around you and the worst thing that can happen at a time like this is an interruption.

Emotional upheaval and unhappiness is the most debilitating interruption of all. It is internal and suffocates the both the mind and heart from where inspiration flows; so often there is seemingly no end in sight.

It was exactly this interruption that made me put away my brushes and abandon my studio for years. Once I recovered, the relief and delight at finding my ability to paint again was immense. So much so, I decided that emotional involvement was not something I would allow in my life as the sacrifice of my art was too great a price to pay when my attention was drawn elsewhere.

Aside from the fear of hurt and disappointment, I found such fulfilment in my painting that I became quite certain that it was art which would hold my heart and art alone. I readily shut the world out and any feeling of love or passion I experienced were only a result of loving my children or the passion I felt for canvas, colour and form and what I could create with them.

Lately there has been a change in my work, initially subtle but I was immediately aware of intensity in my work which I had not seen before. The more I worked, the more obvious this change became, then yesterday, I stood in front of a canvas and almost unconsciously painted a landscape with such ease and such passion for what I was doing that it almost took my breath away.

The irony is the very emotional interruption that I have so determinedly been avoiding is responsible for the change in my work. I do not doubt that interruption can be detrimental but I was never aware that passion and desire felt for something or someone other than my children and my art could be channelled into a painting with such intensity that it not only enhances my work , but makes it incredibly easy .

On the last page of the book, the musician sits in an audience listening to her own composition with which the crowd is enthralled

During the applause for the piece the conductor points to various section of the orchestra and in turn they stand to receive recognition for their part...

I stood in the garage this afternoon re reading the final paragraph. The ending was no longer different from my own story.

...“He looked down into the audience and beckoned Catherine with a high wave to the podium.

She rose”.