heuristic

So next time you are having difficulty understanding a problem, try drawing a picture (George Pólya, How to Solve It, 1945).

Several years ago I was encourged by a friend to take a life drawing class. For some time, I felt as though I had somehow frozen in place, rather like a large stone suspended inside a slowly-moving glacier. The glacier moved a few inches a year; the stone that was me, suspended in time and space deep within my icy host, seemingly moved not at all. Everything around me, the trapped stone, was slowly moving forward - yet I was unable to perceive the slightest forward motion. My usual way of dealing with stasis -- or stasis due to problem-overload -- was to write. But during that time, I could find no words that would adequately articulate my view of the world.

With all my words essentially off on extended holiday, I figured, ok, try something new. I bought a pad, a few graphite pencils, and I began to draw. For over a year, I went nowhere without a pad and pencil. I spent evenings, weekends, and all my spare moments in between, wordlessly shaping images on paper with my black, smudgy fingers. I lived in this black and white world for maybe a year. But I still couldn't write.

Eventually, it was time to move on from black and white. I decided to try painting my perceptions, so I picked up a paint brush and dipped it in bold, bright acrylics. These new color images begged words, just as a catchy tune begs lyrics. As I painted, my fingers began to remember how to type words. My first attempt to describe what was going on in my mind as I painted images inspired by crystal structures (which are fascinating, let's face it) ended up in an obscure file on my laptop. I unearthed it the other day, dusted it off, and discovered something new. The act of drawing, then painting, had somehow helped me breach the dam. Using crystal structures as metaphor for life, I could methodically strip away all visible layers, and magnify that which makes us who we are. As I painted simple structures at first, then moved to more complex versions that hid human features within the shapes and colors, I rediscovered my writer's voice.

Crystal structures are miniscule building blocks that form basic frameworks for inorganic and organic materials – rocks, metals, polymers, and everything in between. They are symmetrical and asymmetrical, simple and complex. They are also beautiful, better than the best abstract art. They tell one piece of the marvelous story of evolution. My brain works best when it’s acting like an efficient file clerk; organizing everything around me gives me some measure of that elusive feeling of control. No wonder I straighten furniture and pick up clutter when I walk into a room. Doing so gives me strange comfort. What naturally follows is that I should latch on so vigorously to the idea of expressing my need for order by painting crystal structures.


The first few paintings I did were miniatures -- depictions of pyrite, marcasite, talc and other crystal structures such as those from the Kaolinite group (named for its type locality, Kao-Ling, Jianxi, China; a common phyllosilicate mineral) that have these mysteriously wonderful gaps between the molecular layerings. It’s hard to tell why these structures hold together…it’s a bit of magic (like my own life). The most common usage of Kaolinite is in ceramics, porcelain, and as the “gloss” on magazine paper; but also as a filler for paint, rubber and plastics since it is relatively inert and is long lasting.

My fascination with crystal structures has influenced all my paintings. Many are abstract faces, based on a crystal structure theme. I have always been especially drawn to peoples’ eyes, and find great pleasure in doodling the human face and form.

For me, the act of painting is a heuristic path toward words. For now, my words are those water droplets in the poem below, written at a time when I was suffering from writer’s block. Lately, I find myself repeating words and phrases in my head at all times of the day. I awake in the night to the beat of rhythmic word-sounds, whirling and dancing in my sleepy subconscious, like a heady concoction in Jimmy Buffet’s blender. The phrases demand to be poured onto paper, rearranged, and worried into the shape of a story.

Words
Collect at the intersection of inner mind and outer world;
Like water droplets, they soon merge
Flowing into silver strands
Forming rivulets and soon, streams
Then rivers of thought
Teeming with ideas
Overflowing the banks of my narrow existence.
Would that my mind flowed as freely toward the ocean
Of creation as the mightiest river
Charges toward the sea

To see some of my paintings, click here.