Through a glass, darkly

The mere word “Eyeglasses” sounds almost painfully ordinary, but I felt that it might make a terrific piece. Humans invented two little pieces of glass in order to correct vision, then spent centuries pretending eyeglasses also reveal intelligence, character, a bit of eccentricity and, occasionally, whether someone is a serial killer in some movie. The more I wrote down thoughts I kept thinking that I’d take this topic somewhere darker, kind of a boundary between what we honestly see and what is actually there. A mix of October eerie, a bit reflective and slightly supernatural.

I ventured off to write about how glasses remember, like when an old pair is found in a drawer, perhaps belonging to someone long gone. When they’re put on, you don’t see more clearly, you see what they once saw. In addition, glasses normally correct blurred vision but, when reversed, things are visible only when the world is out of focus. Think about how we spend our lives believing that seeing clearly means understanding clearly but, it does not. Eyeglasses can certainly sharpen words on a page, or an image in a photograph, but they cannot help us recognize deception, love, regret, opportunity, or the moment something, or someone, important is disappearing from our lives.

I’ve always thought there was something slightly supernatural about eyeglasses. Tucked into a frame, glasses sit between us and the world, and suddenly everything changes. Edges sharpen. Faces emerge. Words become readable. We call that corrected vision, as though seeing clearly were merely a matter of prescription.

If only.

There are things I have seen perfectly and failed to understand. Things I misunderstood because I saw only what I expected to see. And things I recognize now that were invisible to me when they were standing directly in front of my face.

I’ve thought that maybe October is the right month to wonder about such things. Shadows lengthen. Mirrors become slightly less trustworthy. The dead seem a little closer. And an old pair of eyeglasses sitting alone on a table can begin to look less like an object and more like a witness.

I keep thinking about circling back to the glasses themselves and realizing that, perhaps the most frightening things in life were never the things hiding in the dark. They were the things we looked directly at, in perfect focus, and still failed to see. It seems that, in October, we humans apparently require an entire month to admit that shadows, and what might lurk beyond, are interesting. It’s all about vision versus perception where two people can look through perfectly corrected lenses at exactly the same thing and see entirely different realities. People often fail to think outside the box, instead, they forget there was a box in the first place as they look through the glass, darkly.

What if our eyes aren’t the things that need correcting?

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From the Writer’s Workshop: Write a post inspired by the word eyeglasses.

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Emotion and Ink…

To begin, I’m inspired to write by the things that stay with me and some that haunt me.

There’s a conversation I keep replaying, a memory that suddenly resurfaces after years of silence. Then, something I witness makes me laugh, makes absolutely no sense or makes me downright angry. People inspire me, those in my circle and others, in general. Some, not always in ways they would appreciate knowing about.

I write because I notice things.

I notice what people say, but probably more importantly, what they don’t say. I notice contradictions, small acts of kindness, ridiculous behavior, old wounds, unexpected humor, and those ordinary moments that seem insignificant until, somehow, they aren’t.

Writing gives me a place to put all of it.

I’ve written a book that remains unpublished, and I created a website around much of what inspired it. But publication was never the thing that made me a writer. Writing did.

There is something wonderfully permanent about taking a thought that exists only in your head and giving it words. I find it cathartic to channel my emotions through ink for, once it’s written, it has weight. It can make someone laugh, remember, reconsider, or occasionally become annoyed with you. I’m perfectly comfortable with all four.

So, what inspires me to write?

Life does. People do. Memory does. The absurdity, and occasional insanity, of human nature certainly does. But, perhaps more than anything, I write because there is always something I’m not quite finished saying.

From the Writer’s Workshop: What inspires you to write?

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Faded photo, fresh creativity…

While on an intense purging binge recently, I found an old charcoal sketch dating way back to my high school years. Previously, I had shared it with friends, then promptly packed it away. Memories came flooding back about the strictness of the art classes I suffered through. The anxiety to follow the teacher’s lesson plan and produce perfect results always impacted my desire to express myself outside the artistic box. While sitting in the midst of a pile of items, trying to decide what would stay or go, I opened my high school art case. As I rummaged through the paint-stained wooden case, my inspiration suddenly grabbed hold of me and I found my charcoal sticks and a collection of brushes and paints. The smell of linseed oil and streaks of yellow and blue oil paint inside the case reminded me that I was wrong to think that any expression of art required absolute neatness or perfect precision. These many, many, years later, I’ve come to realize that raw emotion matters so much more.

At this point in time, my focus is on my imagination which encourages me to delve into textures, bordering on the abstract, with a mixture of thick colors, on a brush which hits the canvas like a conductor leading an orchestra. Whether painting or sketching, in all the time that’s passed, art allows me to process complex feelings without using words, as I do each time I write here on my website. Creating something new helps to minimize my daily stress and any mistakes now feel like beautiful new opportunities rather than failures.

That one old sketch was an important reminder on how creating, anything, should be done without regimentation or fear.

From the Writer’s Workshop: Write a post in exactly twelve (12) lines. Tell us about someone in your family who has artistic ability. Share an old photo and let it inspire a blog post.



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