“You will have only one story. You’ll write your one story many ways.”
The twisty round about way I came to that quote from a character in Elizabeth Strout’s novel, My Name is Lucy Barton, was by catching on to it in a thread of conversation which Mary Chapin Carpenter was having with poet Sarah Kay in a podcast, One Story, where they had an in depth discussion of her album, The Dirt and The Stars.
There’s a basket full of accreditation in that last paragraph and I’m sure to have left out some of the weft, alas one’s weaving gets lacier after 65. I now know. But hearing MCC say those words in her smokey weathered road warrior timbre and in relation to the decades long trail of her song writing career…well… it clanged my bell.
Upon hearing that… that kernel of wisdom that we all have only one story…the totality of my own compositions snapped sharply into a perfectly ordered row.
I’ve only been telling the same story
my one story
in every painting
all along the way.
I’ve reflected recently in these blog posts about the paintings and even the Painter’s Notes as being breadcrumbs. Notes left in the margins which I suppose could be used to follow my way back tracing milestones to find what…the origin? I appreciate knowing the trail is well lit and documented but right this second I’m not really interested in going back there thank you. It feels much more important now to think about what I’m picking up from where and who I’ve been and choosing what is worth tossing into that basket nestled on my aging shoulders moving forward.
Seeing those breadcrumbs collectively as my “One Story” helps me make sense of the feedback that has come from patrons and viewers along the way who tell me they felt a personal connection to the paintings. Because when it comes down to it, it is really “Our One Story” isn’t it.
To draw upon another overheard podcast conversation I listened to this week, Joni Mitchell told an interviewer that (years ago and I paraphrase) I never wanted people to see me in my songs. If they see themselves then I’ve done the thing I set out to do…or words to that affect.
I certainly didn’t start out all those decades ago to tell anybody anything. Still not my thing. But like all lovers of mysteries, I enjoy connecting up a row of dots. And I have learned above all to listen to the Muses. They seem to have been throwing the voices of coveted musicians and story tellers in my path of late. It has lead to some wonderfully nostalgic evenings in the cavernous studio where sounds and whispers love to climb into the moonlight filled vault and dance.
Stopping here for a bit of reflection, I’m gathering those newly connected dots and I’m folding them all in origami fashion along crisp clean lines into a tiny paper crane. Light of weight and simple of beauty it will fit nicely into my basket. Leaving room for new paintings of old stories going forward and the promise of grace in the spaces in between.
In that context dear readers…here is the very next painting to be put into our basket…
The Contractor – 33 x 24
Sitting in the new studio loft
with Paul Winters’ joyful clarinet
dancing in the rafters
and Maggie asleep in the sun…
I am writing these notes
roughly a year after coming upon this tool belt…
It makes my heart soar
to remember back to that time last year
when a tired but smiling Dan and Skippy
were closing the latch at the back gate
after a week of celebrating the first walls going up.
I had turned to unclip Maggie’s harness
and she was free to make her daily inspection.
Each afternoon she would roam the construction site
and find one piece of wood
which, when properly gnawed,
became that nights’ symbol of a job well done.
I had followed her to step for the first time
“into” my new studio
only to once again step aside
as the Muses broke loose
and flooded the scene with their favorite light.
Dan had set up a new work table
to lay out the plans which had been folded and refolded
and sat upon and mulled over
a thousand times already
as each new stick of wood went in
and each new tradesman looked for direction.
But for the first time
with the walls up
and a roof on
it was safe to leave the loose sheets open
with his trusty toolbelt to keep the summer winds at bay.
With the windows and doors yet to go in
and just outside
the Ruth Stout garden fallow for the season
only the wren’s song was in the air
to remind us of harvests to come.
Today it is in a full blossomed mess of glory
with potatoes under that blanket of hay
dozens of tomatoes finally ripening
one or two last peas hanging on for Maggie
and this artist’s heart is wild with delight
to realize that this glorious new studio was built
right in the middle of her garden.
My most favorite part of this painting
was Dan’s reaction when I first showed it to him
“Hey, that’s really my handwriting !”
Yes it is Dan,
you have left your mark all over this magnificent building
…and our hearts.
And Skippy,
the coffee stain is for you.
