The connection between poetry and painting are as close as any two different art forms can be. The search for exactly the right word or set of words echos the search for the right color, the right value. Both forms struggle against the limitations inherent to their scope and tools and process. It is those same limitations that shape the end and give life to what artifact is left at the finish. The goal of each is to allow the ones who discover that work after the fact, to engage - to enter in and experience the place and the mood found within, on their own, with only their eyes and heart to guide. I feel I’m standing on the edge of those fields Sherwood Anderson writes of every time I read this little poem.
My song will rest while I rest. I struggle along. I'll get back to the corn and
the open fields. Don't fret, love, I'll come out all right.
Back of Chicago the open fields. Were you ever there—trains coming toward
you out of the West—streaks of light on the long gray plains? Many a
song—aching to sing.
I've got a gray and ragged brother in my breast—that's a fact. Back of
Chicago the open fields—long trains go west too—in the silence. Don't
fret, love. I'll come out all right.