Had a little coaching session on the phone yesterday afternoon (cocktail hour) with Pat. Is “coach” the right word? She’s definitely in league with that bold, go-for-it shoulder genius. My best “coaching” is someone being interested, giving me that little you-are-mahvelous shove forward. PLUS… strong opinions about what excites her, what is like Christmas to her… and at what point she nods off, without seeming a bit judgmental or snarky.
So this morning I sat with my manuscript and read sections out loud. This is quirky, but I set up a microphone and a headset, so I could hear my voice fed back to me electronically. Much more powerful than than mumbling to myself.
This afternoon, Jim and I went to the Paint Made Flesh exhibit at the Memorial Art Gallery — American and European works made since 1952. Jim came home talking about the anguish and decadence in these painting. I came home excited about making the illustrations in my book a series of self-portraits — many different styles, many different emotions.
One might say: every drawing I do is a gosh-darned self-portrait. Yeah, but calling it a self-portrait elevates it to its own genre. No, I’m not a narcissist — I’m a self-portraitist.