When I first met my husband, a skilled poet and writer, he had a well-developed understanding of himself as an artist. His ability to shape worlds with the music of words was something I deeply appreciated. I had always felt like a visual artist. I drew, painted and sculpted.
We both understood composition in our respective art forms. It led to the next step.
I suggested he try creating a visual piece. He chose pastels on paper and what happened next was the “magic”.
He dove right in and unabashedly created a few pieces. They were unique, powerful, and beautiful.
I picked up a pen and began to write. First some images came to mind, but how to capture it? Poetry seemed the pithy, playful, and truthful choice.
The “music” was like the brush strokes. It carried one word to the next. I ended up with something resembling a love poem. It was astonishing. We “spoke” different languages, but were able to communicate.
Maybe it was just naïveté, but it all felt magical. It was also an important lesson. I had developed a visual vocabulary and he had a developed written/musical vocabulary. We were motivated translators.
Throughout our careers, it seemed we were always translating our experiences into our "native" language.