This weekend I went away with my wife and a few friends to a “retreat farm”, a place for rest, quiet reflection and conversation.
The group has an interest in painting as hobby, so we all brought our pencils, charcoal, paper and paints, ready to start the new school season with a bang.
Life contains many moments of crisis, large and small. So it is with painting, or any other art form, for that matter.
Will I find the inspiration? Will this moment move my heart and produce beauty? Will I claim victory over fear?
We walked around the farm, getting aquainted with the landscape, each person open to that moment of inspiration.
And then I saw it: a blue rope, wrapped strangely around the supporting pole of a woodpile shed. Not just blue: a kind of turquoise, beautiful blue green in its contrast with the natural colors around it.
The rope moved me deeply (I will do my best to avoid making sick puns about lasso’s etc.). Why, I am not exactly sure yet. I love the color, the form, the strange knot, the combination of tension and release in the rope, the mysterious origin and unknown destination.
And that against the background of the woodpile itself, completely natural in its form and color, the logs with their wild knots and subtle wrinkles.
A lost pre-autumn dried leaf had been rescued from its ignominious fall to the ground by the wild splayed ends of the rope, and lies gently as if sleeping in a safe place.
Ernest Hemingway once said in an interview: “A writer produces his best material when he is in love.”
I am not in love with this blue rope, but deeply moved and inspired.
I hope it will help me produce my best work ever, for as long as it want to do that.