The Scratching Post

From the sounds of Tharp's chapter, scratching can be just about anything you do with an awareness of the creative.  In that vein, I suppose I've done a couple of things that might qualify as scratching.  First of all, I went through my collections of pictures on various themes.  I like to collect pictures I find on the internet that look like they have a story or a meaning behind them.  Often, browsing through them can help me find topics and issues that I'd like to explore further through some other medium, be it words or sketches or actions.  After doing that for awhile, I decided that I needed some fresh air and some activity, so I went on a walk.  Now an average walk might not qualify as a scratching session, but when I walk, I like to talk to myself or sing, exploring not only the words flowing through my mind, but also the particular sounds I use to express them.  Sometimes it's gibberish and only the variety of sounds is what matters.  I also like to feel the world around me when I walk, touching light posts, walls, trees, the ground, etc. so that I can feel the textures that make up the world.  Now these explorations don't tend to produce as clear ideas as looking at pictures or reading books do, but they help me find a vivid representation of the sights, sounds, smells, and textures of the scenes the creative enterprises make use of.

As far as the particulars of tonight, I found pictures describing fear, determination, loneliness, power, love,  and absurdity.  One particular photo that struck me was of a soldier comforting another soldier on a barren, rocky backdrop.  I don't know the story behind it... I could easily make up a story about it... however, I think perhaps some of its power is in the fact that it is just raw emotion; it is a universal, speaking about many stories.  Later, on my walk, I walked around campus, just watching, narrating, scoring the world I saw.  The emergency phone box intrigued me... who are the people who might use it?  What might have befallen them?  This thing looks like some futuristic cryo-freezing tube, compact and a bit cramped, with utilitarian lines and a cool, industrial feel.  It is just big enough to fit my shoulders inside.  I moved on.  I walked past the cemetery, watching headlights glare off the polished headstones.  These are not old graves, they lack the character and variety of the stones in older sections of the cemetery.  They are large stones; the people buried here are... were wealthy.  I wonder if people visit these stones much... I've never seen anyone visiting the gravesites here.  Past the cemetery is Assembly hall.  The parking lot has a finality to it.  The lights are all on, illuminating the empty asphalt sea.  I stand on the cross of two yellow lines that meet at a right angle.  It feels strangely right, as though this spot were a designated point.  I walk along the line.  The straightness gives a sense of duty and precision.  What's that mean?  I don't know, but the feeling is one I can tap into later.  I think this scratching thing is less about what you do and more about how you see what you do.  Approaching it with the purpose of "scratching" just opens your eyes to gain the right perspective.