Last night we got to hear Tin Can Buddha in Frankfort, Kentucky. There were 17 musicians and perhaps one rehearsal before their performance at The Grand Theater. They played music– (and were so playful together)! The spontaneity, skill and liveliness was intoxicating. The joy from the musicians finding their way with each other in the moment infused the audience with their exuberance. We did not want it to end. To stop and ask what it all meant would have deprived us– we were in the experience (of whatever it meant) with them. We were "inside the song".

I am inclined to have the same approach with poetry and painting. When I am wondering at meaning, I cannot paint or hear poetry. This is the atmosphere I strive to create in the classroom. When I see a student's face light up in the process of making a mark with her whole being, I am gratified.

The best way I know to get to experience "meaning", is to do my work on a regular basis, and long enough to lose myself, to be inside the work. When I feel discouraged, and disconnected with my work, the best remedy is to go back into my studio and do many versions of something, without much thought or judgement. Make a splash of color or ink!

What the painting or poem means changes for each person, and in different moments.

Billie Collins says this beautifully in his Introduction to Poetry:

I ask them to take a poem

and hold it up to the light

like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem

and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room

and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski

across the surface of a poem