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senses. inspire me thursday.

liz lamoreux


my art supplies scattered all over the dining room table. the colors that result as i mix blue and purple paint. the lines in the photo that begin to appear as i scratch away with sandpaper. color disappears and reappears as i apply bleach and water to the photo with a brush. some of my grandmother's favorite seashells in a bowl on the table. the joys of figuring out a way to add them and finding the ones that already have a hole in them. deciding where to place these objects on the canvas. over here? no. here? hmmm. how about this way? yes.

I tear the paper and head to my office. the typewriter keys move and create letters on the newsprint. click, click. the words come from my brain to the page. click, click, zing. as i ponder how to adhere the shells to the canvas, i tap a pencil on the table. after my a-ha moment, i hear my feet along the floor as i run to the guest room closet. my long-lost bead collection. the beads roll and tumble in their plastic containers as i pull the bag off the shelf. my feet again as i run back to the table. i open the bag and the containers inside. "yes!" i cry. wire. david wilcox sings in the background and i am a back-up singer as i twist the wire into knots. my husband asks, "do you want some tea?" yes, please, i reply.

the fume-y-ness of paint, gel medium, and bleach. the woodsy, clean green tea as i bring the mug to my lips when i pause to let things dry. later, the strong wrinkle-up-your-nose smell of the varnish; a cross between oh-what-is-that-odor and moth balls.

i bring my fingertip to my tongue in anticipation of leafing through some paper and grimace as i my tongue hits the coppery taste from the wire that lingers on my finger. in the hope of capturing a memory of the sea, i bring a shell to my tongue. but i taste nothing. the warm, soothing green tea as it slides over my tongue and down my throat.

these moments are all about touch. i use my hands for everything. i feel the stickiness of the glue on my fingers. the rough, little pebble-like feel of the sandpaper. the smooth, then rough, round, edges of the shells. the wire as i sew the shells together. twist, turn, loop, thread.

{and know}
an artist. yes. an artist. there is an artist inside me who danced and laughed and sang as i created this piece of me. you have one inside you, too.

see other inspire me thursday art pieces that use all of the senses here.

the typewritten words say:
do not fear
the unknown
the answers
are the guts
of it all
your life