I think it is human nature to believe that you can understand other people. We seek to “know” people. We are constantly making assumptions about others. “She is….” “He is….”
I am a visual person. For me, it is like I begin to paint a portrait of a person, and I add paint strokes to the image as I learn more about them. I hope to define or decode them and bring them into focus.
But I am always looking at my imaginary paintings and feeling like I am missing something. I wish could put my finger on what I missed. It is terribly confusing to discover that my imagination has led me astray – to discover my portraits are not accurate.
Maybe this is why I am drawn to abstract art. It strips the imagery completely away, and only focuses on feeling, emotion, essence, and even the void.
Some days I am more comfortable with abstraction. I am able to be less critical. I am more open. My mind is free. I am able to avoid assumptions.
A day of abstraction often helps me see what is really there.
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This little get-together was relaxing and low key. There were no raised voices, no preening or positioning. Just a handful of women visiting about their children and the school year ahead. The conversation generally involved the whole group, and we all got to hear the longer versions of each other’s concerns, plans and dreams. I liked that part very much. We gravitated toward the family room after the intial round of beverages were poured. I chose to sit in a chair that proved to be fantastically comfortable, and, after the rain started to fall, I kept to myself the desire to tell our hostess that I would be staying for naptime.
I found myself, as we were all talking, mesmerized by the texture of the upholstery on my chair. It was the same upholstery on every chair and sofa in the room, and I hope my friend doesn’t blame her beloved dogs for the possible “wear and tear” on the corner I covertly fondled. The cotton fabric had a weave to it that didn’t follow the pattern of the bold stripes, and it held me in its sway.
Today I found the shells you see, in the surf up-island from our beach chairs. I dug them out of the sand and clear water, looked at them briefly, and silently told myself to throw them back. They were still been held together by membrane, and one side was barnacled and off-colored, but the other side was nearly perfect and barnacle free. I held it for over a minute while contemplating how these two halves could still be together in the rough and tumble of the sea. One was perfect and one was not. Then, because I knew tossing would damage them, I laid them back gently on the sand in the shallows and walked away.
