I am learning to be more observant.

I want to be more observant.

I choose to be more observant.

Returning from a morning swim, during my drive home I keep windows open and radio off. And I remember what I’ve seen. Thin young girls with small triangles over parts of their bodies. Moving together in groups – like birds – testing their newfound powers. Colorful floats. Light going down into the water.

The very beautiful woman I observed. Mid-fifties. Big round body. A black tank suit. Not inappropriately skimpy, not modest like she was ashamed of her shape. Sitting by the side of the pool. Feeling sun on her back. Wiggling her toes. Confident in her body.

The songbirds in our yard. Only sometimes visible. Sometimes hidden in the branches. To walk by the tree is to wonder if the tree itself is singing.

The hibiscus by our front porch. Knocking me out this morning with an exuberant red somewhere between cadmium red and coral. Amazing. Four big blooms. Opening even during my time there on the porch.

Observing. Then making note of what you see.

Sometimes what I see finds its way into a sketch. Sometimes I more drawn to words.

Ways to make sense of what you observe.

So. This week I had the chance to make a presentation to a quilt-making group here in Central Florida. Great group. Great experience. And one question was, “Do you just have all these ideas in your head and they pop out? Where do ideas come from?”

Yes my head is filled with ideas. All the time. No, they don’t just pop out. But I am learning to cultivate them. More each day. I hope.

. . . . .

A new poem for you, from my swimming observations. Enjoy.

The Polka Dot Flotilla

The polka dot flotilla
bobs in the springs every morning.
In the water wearing wide hats
and sunglasses.
They are draped over orange – pink – lime
pool floats each forming a wide U.
Looped beneath their ample arms.
They kick and float and talk their way
around the swimming area.

I have named them.
Winona. Florence. Eleanor.
Their voices weave harmonies of words
that float across the water.
    Oh yes. Mmmm-hmmm. I’ve tried that.
    Did you know? Well I’ve heard.
A textured hymn I have listened to before
in Baptist kitchens
when the floaters are on dry land
serving the Lord.

Winona, one morning, leaves her hat
by the poolside.
With one long breath she begins
a strong crawl stroke
straight across the pool.
And back. They watch her.
    I didn’t know she could do that.

Till that morning, neither did she.

. . . . . . . . . .

For all the artmakers: Happy creating
For all the art lovers: Happy appreciating

Thank you for reading. I always enjoy questions and comments.
--Bobbi
bobbi@bobbibaughstudio.com

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