When you know what you want to say but...

you don't quite know how to say it. Many times I've used this blog to push through the mushy blockage that sits between my fingers and my cerebellum.

I'm stuck. I have an article to write, plenty of information, but can't seem to get it out onto paper. I threw up all the details into my notebook, as sometimes the pen draws it out better than the keyboard. (nothing) I've typed details into a computer file that spews, blah blah blah. (nothing again) I went for a walk with friends and complained. They said, "Make sure you put in the stuff about the flashlight." I will.

But I need a hook, angle, point of interest that the reader won't find any place else. It's not the subject, for there is plenty of interest. But I have questions that must be answered. What makes an artist who they are? What gives them their perspective? For this job, as I type here, now, I believe the answer is light.

For most of her childhood this artist lived in a one room apartment with no electricity, no running water. What is central to all her work is light. Its presence and its absence. Its presence takes you places. Winding you down roads, through archways, to doorways, and into the privacy of an embrace. It's absence casts doubt and moodiness. But in the shadows, using a flashlight to guide you, there is a doorway, a window, a place of hope and wonder.

Art mirrors life. Both require light. It's time to write.