Saturday, January 29, 2011
It becomes outrageous---
I had sketched the town near the station while waiting for the train; I had reminisced about the last trip to the Lebanon Co-op with my family; I had sketched a cup of coffee; but the wonderful thing about the page, what made it so valuable to me, was that I had written down a quote that I had found in the Amtrak magazine that was stuck in the seat pocket in front of me. Had I not had my journal with me I would have immediately forgotten the quote, and it is what makes this particular page spectacular to me.
The quote was from an outsider artist named Freddie Brice (1920- 98). He defined his art in such a perfect way, (and I think it's a fine definition of a journal practice, too), when he said his art was ". . . a hobby -- a true thing [that] becomes regular. It becomes continuously. It becomes outrageous. It becomes magnificent."
So I am posing a question for all of you: when have been the times that your own journal practice (however intermittent and imperfect and lacking) has become magnificent? satisfying? useful? a pleasure? continuously? I would love to read your comments!