Micron and watercolor

Paralyzed

What was I thinking

frozen at the window? Look!

mist-covered mountains

What Darya Said:

First she said:

We left the gods of Earth on Earth    
       though we did not know it then
We brought the vestments, icons, 
       holy water and holy wine, 
       but the gods clung to their deserts, 
       jungles, mountaintops
Some hoped by bringing           
       books they called holy               
       to carry gods with them 
       like daffodil bulbs          
       in a pot to transplant into    
       new soil 
As if he/she/it/they 
       could be driven 
       by pen after pen
       pinned to pages 
       with spikes of ink

Ink was not sufficient      
       collections of scraps of old songs 
       in long dead languages,                  
       prayers whispered in desperate 
       hope, dreams of
       righteous revenge, even songs of   
       flattery and praise        
Could not attract         
       divine attention                
       to our new homes
We opened the books and 
       the words flew out
The whisper of their wings 
       filling the strange dawn
Though it might have been only the 
       sound we made breathing in                      
       the new air

Then:

Still, on every new planet we 
       built temples and shrines and 
       sacred wells dedicated to the 
       gods of Earth        
       (who were unaware of our efforts, 
       as far as we could tell)                     
       and a few to gods of the new world                   
       (just in case they existed)
It seemed to some, then more, that 
       He/She/It/They           
       were only as powerful                         
       as they were useful to
Those who by sleight of hand and  
       misdirection ruled under 
       divine authority
Called it by the old names, 
       claimed identicality, 
       created the same gods                   
       over and over
The same gods arose from the 
       same impulses as gods ever did
Each old name implied continuity but 
       was only a mask for    
       a new god            
       under construction

At last:

If the gods old or new were Gods, 
       shouldn’t they have been with 
       us all along? With us              
       on the ships,                   
       in the long time               
       in the long dark           
       between planets
Or waiting for us when the 
       gangplanks fell onto    
       new soil

All we ever found, no matter 
       where we went, were 
       gods that arose from 
       someone’s sense of awe 
       translated into a comprehensible        
       human agency, from       
       someone’s desire for power 
       translated into        
       a dispenser of gifts and 
       punishment, from        
       someone’s love               
       translated into self-serving duty, from        
       someone’s hope begging to be
       translated into a savior
Everywhere we went, we 
       worshiped our own imaginations, 
       dreams, desires, memories
Calling out to the best and worst   
       of ourselves in voices that 
       we expected/wanted/chose   
       to hear

Never was a whirlwind more than                         
       a sun-driven spin of         
       dust
And that we found everywhere.

How do watercolors actually work?

The process of putting paint on paper always feels magical to me--when other people do it. Watching a painter apply random smears and swipes of color on a piece of paper until a waterfall or a face or an entire cityscape suddenly emerges, as though this new world was always there and she was just stripping away a shroud: chills prickle my neck and I'm hypnotized.

When I do it, it's a dang mess. If I can even think of something to paint, with all that white paper staring up at me. I don't know how to see what I'm looking at in a way that transmits down my arm to an unwieldy bristle-ended appendage.

I love making washes--they make great backgrounds and desktops, as well as bookmarks and shopping list paper. It's very satisfying to make page after page of pretty colors. But I want to move beyond happy accidents and try painting on purpose.

How fortunate to live in these days of YouTube tutorials. There are so many pigment magicians out there who are really good teachers. There's a lovely woman who goes by the name makoccino who makes beautiful videos about watercolor and acrylic painting that are just a pleasure to watch. I actually signed up for an online class with another painter named Laura Horn, who also works in watercolors and acrylics. There are hundreds of other painters out there to learn from. I've mostly just watched up to this point. But during the coronavirus shutdown I have started to do.

For starters, my vocabulary is expanding. I can now use terms like "water control" and "glazing" with some kind of confidence, and say "cauliflower" like it's a bad thing.

I really liked the waves this one guy was painting, and the skies that a different painter was doing, so I've been trying to follow their directions, with, mmmm, slight success, if you count actually setting my fears aside and putting some actual paint on some actual paper as success. These were done in this order on different days. They bear a slight resemblance to the examples, so yay.

I think there's evidence of some small gaining of understanding. And it was fun! Two of the classes I watched: waves and lavender field. I can't remember the one about clouds and skies.

Long ago I read a book about a kingdom where music was forbidden. The magic created by the music was draining away, and kingdom was dying as a result. To save the it, two young heroes quested to find the magic Song that would bring the kingdom back to life. Amazingly enough, they did find it. When the time came to sing it, though, the singer was so stressed out by running from evil music haters that they couldn't remember the song. The other quester had a revelation: Just sing anything. Any song would save the kingdom. Every song grew magic. You just had to sing. It was always in everybody's power.

Just put the dang paint on the dang paper.