So, I have been doing these ‘dot drawings’ as I call them. Someone called the method Pointillism, but that seems too fancy artsy for me. Mostly I am doing freeform patterns, just as they evolve, without actual planning. I drifted into doing a few that attempted to represent something, but nothing like the work of Georges Seurat or this famous van Gogh self portrait.





I’ve only shown the drawings to a few people, but a frequent comment is that the detailed work of placing all those dots requires a lot of patience. And that truth I will own. I have and have always had a lot of patience. It serves me well when taking care of crying infants; I am calm because I know they will quiet down. The title of an Adrienne Rich collection of poems: A Wild Patience Has Taken Me This Far has always resonated deeply for me. You might say it has been a mantra during some difficult times. My life pace is that of a tortoise and like a tortoise, I can be as unmoving as a stone.

Many of the best experiences of my life: becoming and being a mother, learning to make furniture, writing, gardening, cooking… have developed because I was/am patient. Some might say stubborn. The thing about patience, or stubbornness for that matter, is that it doesn’t feel that much like a choice for me. It’s just who and how I am. Sometimes it has not served me well, when I wait patiently for something that (figuratively) never arrives.

Wasted time? I guess that’s the question. No answer today.

What do you think?

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