Something Imagined

We’ve been playing and working in teams, equilibrium being tested while trying to gain balance on the page, developing reactions, concentrating on composition, reinforcing that which we know. Time to dig deeper. To find that place of centered focus, slow- calm- measured, but “heightened” from life. Your subject will be real and dense with much to inspire—a model and still life awash in light in which to lose and find yourself with paint. Your job will be to connect, to feel, to imagine from life, to “tremble” while attempting to “caress the light”.

A poem–

Epilogue

 

by Robert Lowell
 
Those blessed structures, plot and rhyme–

why are they no help to me now

I want to make

something imagined, not recalled?

I hear the noise of my own voice:

The painter’s vision is not a lens,

it trembles to caress the light.

But sometimes everything I write

with the threadbare art of my eye

seems a snapshot,

lurid, rapid, garish, grouped,

heightened from life,

yet paralyzed by fact.

All’s misalliance.

Yet why not say what happened?

Pray for the grace of accuracy

Vermeer gave to the sun’s illumination

stealing like the tide across a map

to his girl solid with yearning.

We are poor passing facts,

warned by that to give

each figure in the photograph

his living name.

 
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