I have a tackboard over my desk upon which I hang all manner of stuff to inspire myself:
• Illustrator cards, one by Nicole Tadgell and one by Polly M. Law;
• A painting I did at Rising River Retreat (I am certain its placement between Nicole’s work and Polly’s is meant to remind myself that all art, even my art, is worthy);
• a postcard print of Saul Steinberg’s “Broadway”, sent to me from the Morgan Library in NYC by a scientist who read TRACKING TRASH;
• a list of writing books that I downloaded from somewhere and mean to look into;
• a picture of my grandfather when he was eighteen and a soldier in Europe (he is so young!);
• a picture of me and my friend Kelley on the night of our Senior Prom (we were so young!);
• a 22-year-old phone number I never called but am still comforted by.
It’s a mish-mash, really, this tackboard of mine, and it is always evolving; things go up, things come down, new things go up. Occasionally I realize something has been up there for a long while, and I start to wonder why. Today I am wondering about a poem, written by e.e.cummings and cut from an Oprah magazine years and years ago. I have not been able to bring myself to let it go …
You can read the poem here.
(My apologies for the music and the photo. They spoil the effect, at least for me. If it were proper to do so, I’d post a photo of my tackboard version. It truly is a beautiful poem.)