I'm convinced that I'm losing time. I have things I want to do these days and I do them, some of them, but I keep running out of day. I meant to get to writing before now, but other things got in the way. Time is slipping away, I need to get a grip.
I have a book called The Daily Writer by Fred White; it's a book of 366 meditations to cultivate a productive and meaningful writing life, at least that's what the subtitle promises. I was reading each day's entry before November started and I'm determined to get back to it. Today's meditation was about freewriting, so I tried to freewrite to the art prompt. I fear it is scattered and sends runners off in different directions that never really come to anything, but it's good to just touch my pencil to the paper and push, not worrying where it goes.
December 6--Adolphe Giraudon, The Eiffel Tower. All it is made of is iron and rivets, so how come it's this big symbol of romance? Oh, I know part of the reason is that it sits in Paris which has to be one of the most romantic cities on earth, but what is it about the shape of it? It it that it is vaguely phallic? I don't think so, that's a joke that would get old really fast. There must have been some special alchemy between the pieces of iron and the open spaces that generated an air of romance. You get the sense just looking at it that from the day it was built lovers were drawn to it. They were hooked by the graceful arches that span the legs, the arches that protect you as you walk beneath them. The stark black against the Parisian sky tugs at the emotions, pulling you toward it like a magnet. Maybe it's the angles and the spaces made by the girders, the geometry of it as it thrusts into the sky like a Gallic shout.
Oh, well, that's freewriting for you.
--Barbara
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