Writing Saga # 26 / The House of Amethyst Poetry; Part Nine

   ‘THE SKETCH HUNTER has delightful days of drifting about among people, in and out of the city, going anywhere, everywhere, stopping as long as he likes – no need to reach any point, moving in any direction following the call of interests. He moves through life as he finds it, not passing negligently the things he loves, but stopping to know them, and to note them down in the shorthand of his sketchbook, a box of oils with a few small panels, the fit of his pocket, or on his drawing pad. Like any hunter he hits or misses. He is looking for what he loves, he tries to capture it. It’s found anywhere, everywhere. Those who are not hunters do not see these things. The hunter is learning to see and to understand – to enjoy. There are memories of days of this sort, of wonderful driftings in and out of the crowd, of seeing and thinking.

  Where are the sketches that were made? Some of them are in dusty piles, some turned out to be so good they got frames, some became motives for big pictures, which were either better or worse than the sketches, but they, or rather the states of being and understandings we had at the time of doing them all, are sifting through and leaving their impress on our whole work and life.’ 

   ‘Every student should put down in some form or other his findings.’

                                    

                                  -Robert Henri; 1865-1929; The Art Spirit

   I love this extract from Robert Henri’s book The Art Spirit. Though he is speaking to artists I can identify with all he is showing and teaching them, applying it to my own life as a writer.

  The House from Afar:  I, too, am a sketchbook dreamer! A hunter of poetry in beauty. Drawing inspiration from the world around, I sketch my pictures in words. I keep a tiny notebook with me. Living in its little satchel, which I made for it from scraps of fabric, this visual diary accompanies me almost everywhere I go. Its creamy pages waiting to capture snatches of fleeting thought, in lines of ‘quick’ writing alive with shades of meaning in light and dark. In all its delight in creating new images in a tumble of words it is, my friend and companion. A treasure chest. A cup of new wine! In all its artistic endeavours, my little sketchbook is for me a door through time. For living and moving having my being in light…and in life as I am finding it…I, too, am looking for what I love, attempting to capture it in pictures from words. The finder is in me the searcher found. ‘Those who are not hunters do not see these things.’ But living images of the light we seek they are everywhere.

   ‘Where are the sketches that were made?’ . . .

   Continued . . . in Writing Saga # 26; Part Nine

Below are the titles of the next three ‘ragged writings’ of amaranthine poetry. They were written quite awhile ago; I have moved on now to write in a lighter vein, but I thought to post them here with all the other earlier 'ragged writings' that they belong to. We go through different phases of expression on our way out of the past. We long to leave the old behind, and go on to explore uncharted waters. But, oh for companions on this journey! Shall I always be alone?

Immortal Wound

A Circlet of Thorns 

Breathing Heaven