This is the text he sent me on Monday:
Dear Jane, we did not get the chance to meet this morning so I wanted to let you know that when the time comes to work with words comes my offer to use the sessions is still open. Kind regards, Luca
I love the way he is so formal, even when he sends a text. And such a gentle intelligent man. I know it was the right decision, but I kind of miss him, and the conversations we were having. I’d have liked to talk to him about my current need for music without lyrics, and about the process of making the picture last night and what I learned from it about the way my creative self works/needs to work. He is someone who I felt could understand some of my deep conflicts between language and image, how I sometimes love words and sometimes don’t want them, sometimes feel as though I have moved into a different realm, where there are no words. And how this all relates to psychosis and the sheer jumbling of thought into nonsense it can bring about, and how the effort to write prose can sometimes be like a kind of agony (though sometimes easy), but poetry is different – not that I write poetry since I’ve been on an effective anti psychotic. No, the wild and whirling self is truly gone away. And sometimes I think I should just devote my life to making pictures, to pursuing whatever it is I am after in the matching of colour and pattern and line, and who really cares if my pictures are as “bad” and “weird” as I fear they are? Because it is the process of making them that entrances and enchants me, when I can let go enough to let it happen, how an idea is born, develops, take hold, how the vision interacts with the materials and the evolving actuality of the picture to create something entirely unanticipated and new. And I look at a draft picture and I just *know* – this bit isn’t right, this needs to be bigger/darker/brighter/in a different place – and there’s such a relief in that certain inner knowledge when so much of my life is shifting and confusing, though only, of course, when I can let myself know it, because I so often still doubt it. Yet I also know the desire to write won’t leave me alone – and can I have both, is it possible to have both? I have to wait for the “voices” that write. They’re absent today. I’m trying to trust they will return. I’m trying to trust that I *will* write poetry again one day.
I don’t have Dr B any more, you see, so I’m afraid this blog will have to be the repository of my thoughts and feelings and experiences about creativity as well as so much else. Unless there is anyone else out there who would like to have these conversations with me? Any volunteers? 😉 (But seriously, I’m interested in the relationship between creativity and madness – my email is firstname.lastname@example.org if you want to share any thoughts or experiences with me).
I see my psychologist tomorrow afternoon – and I’m already nervous. I don’t know whether I could talk to her about this stuff or not, I just know there doesn’t seem to be *time*, so many of them want to talk to her, there is so much to say, and I figure I’m not the most important since as long as I’m allowed to do my stuff I mostly do just fine.
(And I’m aware that I probably sound like a massive twat in this post, but hell, you know, that’s pretty much what I am, I’m well aware I can get a bit carried away with myself, and I’m not sure I give that much of a shit ).
(And yes, we’re blogging a lot at the moment, but no one has to read it, right? I need to remember that!)