I broke a rule I have for myself today, which is that this one came from something I wrote this morning. I usually try to leave things be for a few days before I consider sharing them. Grateful to the person who sent me a message to say it have them hope xo
BROOCH UPDATE (for those following along with the ghost who wants a brooch story): The shop was finally open but the brooch is not rhinestone, it's semi-precious stones and costs €400. Soooooo...not in the cards at the moment! My ghost needs less expensive taste.
Oh no no no, it's not useless at all, and in my opinion, you are very very good with words, you are amazing at capturing moments, details, sensations, impressions - also: there are people who respond to paintings and people who respond to words, on an almost as immediate, visceral level, so it's not useless!!! So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow glazed with rainwater beside the white chickens. The apparition of these faces in the crowd; petals on a wet, black bough. - Obviously, Paris needs more than a haiku, your thoughts are more expansive, you drink in the beauty of the details, the light, you are a painter, and it shows in the words you write. I'm frequently transported by the flow of your minute, quotidian observations, they make me feel and think things. And I'm sure it's the same for many of your readers.
Thank you ❤️ for beauty in presence, carried by words.
"Maybe I can still learn how to say this thing, which is the only thing worth saying, at least to me, so much of the time, how this beauty rises up out of the everyday and makes everything worth it."
Beautiful. I was reminded of Virginia Woolf writing in her diaries, eg:
"The present moment. 7 o'clock on June 26th: L printing; not; thunderous; I after reading Henry IV Part I saying what's the use of writing; reading, imperfectly, a poem by Leopardi; the present moment, in my studio. A bucket banged in the mews; dog barks; woman, "I didn't know if you were out here." Leaves door open; far away horns; a bee buzzing. King lays stone of London university. Doctors, scarlet, purple, in streets; poor little students in gowns; so to dine, and read; and music; thunder, I daresay; and so to open my window, and go up; the moment done." (1933)
Yes yes yes. This feels just perfect to me. Moving and real and true. And beautiful. And this thing you're writing toward, the thing of your last sentence: this is THE thing for me too, as a writer (or at least one of the most central and most precious things).
" ... how this beauty rises up out of the everyday and makes everything worth it", yes! Sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten how to look and see for this because I objectively am not living in a place right now where I'd use "beauty" to describe any of it. Although I try. But I've known my sense of beauty, an effortless feeling of the world making some kind of sense to me.
I broke a rule I have for myself today, which is that this one came from something I wrote this morning. I usually try to leave things be for a few days before I consider sharing them. Grateful to the person who sent me a message to say it have them hope xo
BROOCH UPDATE (for those following along with the ghost who wants a brooch story): The shop was finally open but the brooch is not rhinestone, it's semi-precious stones and costs €400. Soooooo...not in the cards at the moment! My ghost needs less expensive taste.
Oh no no no, it's not useless at all, and in my opinion, you are very very good with words, you are amazing at capturing moments, details, sensations, impressions - also: there are people who respond to paintings and people who respond to words, on an almost as immediate, visceral level, so it's not useless!!! So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow glazed with rainwater beside the white chickens. The apparition of these faces in the crowd; petals on a wet, black bough. - Obviously, Paris needs more than a haiku, your thoughts are more expansive, you drink in the beauty of the details, the light, you are a painter, and it shows in the words you write. I'm frequently transported by the flow of your minute, quotidian observations, they make me feel and think things. And I'm sure it's the same for many of your readers.
Thank you ❤️ for beauty in presence, carried by words.
"Maybe I can still learn how to say this thing, which is the only thing worth saying, at least to me, so much of the time, how this beauty rises up out of the everyday and makes everything worth it."
to appreciate it is enough. maybe words come later, even in another context, while the impression remains w/you always.
Beautiful. I was reminded of Virginia Woolf writing in her diaries, eg:
"The present moment. 7 o'clock on June 26th: L printing; not; thunderous; I after reading Henry IV Part I saying what's the use of writing; reading, imperfectly, a poem by Leopardi; the present moment, in my studio. A bucket banged in the mews; dog barks; woman, "I didn't know if you were out here." Leaves door open; far away horns; a bee buzzing. King lays stone of London university. Doctors, scarlet, purple, in streets; poor little students in gowns; so to dine, and read; and music; thunder, I daresay; and so to open my window, and go up; the moment done." (1933)
(From The Selected Diaries of Virginia Woolf).
Yes yes yes. This feels just perfect to me. Moving and real and true. And beautiful. And this thing you're writing toward, the thing of your last sentence: this is THE thing for me too, as a writer (or at least one of the most central and most precious things).
" ... how this beauty rises up out of the everyday and makes everything worth it", yes! Sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten how to look and see for this because I objectively am not living in a place right now where I'd use "beauty" to describe any of it. Although I try. But I've known my sense of beauty, an effortless feeling of the world making some kind of sense to me.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
You said it.