the facts are black-and-white, we have to color with our words, or else the outlines lose their verve and meaning -- for those who know the most of fact may know the least of feeling, or how those shape our posture and our leaning. to separate what is (out there) and how we feel about it, is fanciful; our thoughts are where we are -- we color daily with our words the bare facts of existence, and bring to fingers what is really far
Crayons are kind of ideal analogies for our ability to put our feelings into words, because they are very imprecise. Precise tools are sharp, and can as easily destroy as create. Crayons force the artist to be a little less aggressive, though no less energetic.
All I wanted to be able to do as a child was draw. I have no talent for drawing whatsoever; nonetheless, I loved doing it. All that’s left of that these days are idle moments I spend on a coloring app, turning out things like
When you think about your own life, it seems good to recognize what remains of the childhood you. The childhood me was erratic, angry, arrogant, and clueless. Through a miracle of consistency, I have retained most of these traits.
I hide them a little more successfully these days.
When people look to you for answers, it can be disconcerting to realize you don’t have them. This is a common experience people have as a friend, lover, parent, or co-worker: being approached for answers, but not having any.
Answers are very comforting, of course, and there are any number of people around more than willing to provide them. To me, answers are like statistics: less convincing once you learn how they’re arrived at.
It’s easy to let other people color our pictures for us, is what I’m getting at. But it’s our piece of paper, our drawing, our chance to express what we see and feel. It may be different than other people’s; experts may sneer at it. But it is no less valuable, no less glorious for being the work of an aspirant or an outcast.
