Bare with me, I may ramble. I have thoughts ricocheting in my head, and I need to get them out. If you get bored or lost, my feelings won’t be hurt.
I plan conversations. I rehearse so that I can manoeuver the conversation the direction I want it to go. I had coffee with a friend/acquaintance this morning. He’s one of those guys you can talk to about anything, and for the most part he keeps a good game face on. I had wanted to ask him about a stranger who dumped his whole life in my lap, last week. But, the conversation turned interesting, and I completely sat passive, watching the direction it went. Kind of like planning a dinner party and watching it be hijacked by the cool kid in the room, or the alcohol.
At any rate, we ended up talking about jazz music, as he is a fan. I am not. Most jazz encompasses too much emotion or not enough to capture my attention. I have heard the greats and take small doses. He said that the great jazz players spoke the language of music. I disagree.
Music, math, languages, knitting- they are all patterns. I love patterns. But the great jazz players, classical composers, poets and mathematicians don’t just speak the language. They channel it to create something more than just the parts. For those with gods, it is a spiritual thing. They create works of art that captivate the mind and body. They live with all of their senses. It’s not just music that makes you want to tap your feet, or a painting that stirs you to the core, or a blanket that makes you remember childhood memories. It is taking all those parts and giving it a life of its own.
I can’t listen to Pachelbal’s Cannon without wanting to move. The freedom and joy it inspires in me is flight without wings, toes that never touch the dance floor, a pure happiness that just is. Rimbaud, Thoreau(?), Baudelaire, Voltaire, Hemingway, Ayn Rand – they all used words that created emotions. They push through creating pictures in your mind to catching it, and keeping it entranced.
I want to knit that way. I want to create pieces that make you want to feel them, to run your hands over the textures, and never let go. If I knit a rabbit, I want to be able to capture the essence of it. I’m not that good yet. I dream knitting. I know where I want to be, I just have to find my way there. I want to make things that speak to people, not just make a thing that will be thrown on the floor or dresser, and be forgotten.