On Writing | Studio Notes
04. Full Moon - March 2025
“Begin to write in the dumb, awkward way an animal cries out in pain, and there you will find your intelligence, your words, your voice.” —Natalie Goldberg
I want to keep this update simple and brief. Since I last wrote, my focus has been on finishing an essay, a task that’s been surprisingly hard (verging on unsolvable) but elating enough, at times, to keep me going. I don’t want to break my stride writing about unrelated things, so I’ll write about writing.
Every time I sit down, I must first overcome the fear that I might not be able to write today, that the words just won’t come to me. I feel a sort of unsettling edginess, a freeze response that constricts my chest, constricts the flow of thoughts. Words need spaciousness and struggle squirming their way through such a narrow channel.
Writing is an act of listening; you have to be clear and open. It’s not that you can’t be emotionally charged, but you can’t second-guess what’s emerging as the pen scribbles the page and fills it with thoughts. Spill it out, gather everything indiscriminately, and sift through it later.
Freewriting helps me arrive. Sometimes, it’s where I’ll stay for a whole session, sketching ideas as I sometimes do in my sketchbook, drawing, or painting studies. I’m just practicing tuning in and getting a better feel for weaving words into prose, catching each one that falls through my field of awareness like pieces in a Tetris game, hurrying as words start to flow and catch up speed because if I misplace just one, I might misplace another until the whole idea gets backed up in my mind and I lose my train of thought and here I am again, stuck, re-reading what I just wrote, getting finicky and maybe I’ll add a coma here or move the gerund there, add an adjective, cross-out an adverb, google a synonym, lose the signal. Game over. You just start again, again and again, tuning in, listening, catching words on the fly.
New oil painting: “Love Flows Over Us in Prismatic Waves”
I started this painting in the summer of 2023 to live paint at Shambhala Music Festival and then put it aside for over a year to work on other things. Perhaps, you saw me working on it at the Grove Gallery? I dusted it off (literally) earlier this winter and finally finished it. Last week, I got it photographed and added a new, beautiful art print to my online store. The original painting is also currently available. Inquire if interested.
I should say, I named this painting after Jon Hopkins's song “Love Flows Over Us in Prismatic Waves” featured on his album Music for Psychedelic Therapy.
Megalithic Cyborg: Art takes time
Yes. Art takes time, especially if you get precious about every brushstroke like me. Here are some progress shots of the Megalithic Cyborg that’s still sitting patiently on my easel.
I’ll leave you with a couple of things that have brought me solace lately:
The documentary Megaliths, Forgotten Worlds by researcher Howard Crowhurst explores the geo-astronomical alignments displayed at the ancient, 7,000-year-old megalithic site of Carnac in France—the largest on Earth with over 3,000 megaliths. His findings filled me with awe and blew my little mind. The builders’ sense of the sacred and their harmonious, symbolic design principles are deeply moving and astonishing, to say the least.
Do people still care for Pink Floyd? I’m experiencing a big Pink Floyd moment the likes I haven’t since my early twenties. It could have something to do with these dystopian times we’re in: it feels like the right soundtrack. Besides, I just can’t get enough of their broody guitar solos. So. Good.
That’s it! Happy full moon everyone. As always, I’d love to hear from you in the comments. <3
Good question…I feel it most directly when I’m writing. I can feel when I hit a certain threshold and words start emerging from a different, more spontaneous place, and I’m just transcribing them. With painting, it’s more visual and if I’m in the zone, I can respond to what is needed moment to moment. It’s a sort of dance between the vision and what’s on the canvas, if it makes sense. But I remain a believer in maintaining a practice even when I don’t feel particularly inspired knowing that developing my craft will serve me when inspiration strikes.
That’s true. The technical ability came later for me. Some of my early poems are not great writing but they are full of honest emotion. I can totally relate to what you said about ‘getting finicky and maybe I’ll add a coma here …’ I’m a bit of a perfectionist myself and if you become too self-critical you can lose the original impulse and the whole thing collapses! Do you ever write in French? I like Baudelaire’s poetry and I’ve read a few different translations of his poems.