(i've got to) stop thinkin' 'bout that

I've been thinking about thought lately---or, more specifically, thought processes. How do we jump from word to word, connecting sight, smell, touch, sound and memory to form a whole? What moves that bizarre train of thought from homework list to eternal salvation? That picks you up at a travel daydream and drops you off only one station away with itinerary fully planned and bags all but half-packed? Add an imagination to that, and suddenly you're keeping company with a batty old aunty who carries a teal/orange carpet bag, too. Or maybe that's just me.

Yesterday, in that bitter wind between classes, I wished vaguely for the power to apparate. Within three steps my imagination had jumped from mere thought to action, playing out the scene in my head. I'd have to scry* the Storeroom first, of course, seeing as I was the only witch on a Muggle-full campus and couldn't risk exposure, and after a quick look into the situation I made the leap, choosing the far corner between paper racks as the all-clear. Unfortunately, I hadn't factored in the door to the studio, which stands at the end of said rack and, strangely enough, happened to be open at the moment of my magic trick and I turned to see a tall boy, curly-headed and dumbfounded, staring back at me. Thinking fast, I apparated right back to that icy stretch between library and bookstore, hoping the boy would assume the vision a mix of late nights and study-weary eyes.

Yes, I actually conjured that all up in the space of one sidewalk square. Don't ask me how---I certainly wasn't actively thinking, Hmm. What if . . . ?---the thought merely spun the story itself. I actually found myself laughing out loud at my mental scene, shaking my head. The human mind. Seriously.

Applicably, though, I've been wondering about the thought process of an art project. Last Thursday my professor encouraged the class to spend at least an hour a day sketching out ideas and potential compositions for our self portrait unit. He asked us to keep all rough drafts, marginal doodles and sketches we might make in the process as a measure of growth and change within the one work, to be turned in alongside the final piece. Sounds fair, right? And I'm all about the process, finding the pieces to fit for the whole, working out the details in light of the Big Picture. Unfortunately for this latest assigment, I tend to do this in my head.

My rough drafts, marginal doodles, sketches? You're looking at it. One little pen-and-ink, barely two inches tall, drawn only in order to pass a note on to A (thanks for the coat, by the way. Adding Versace class as only you can.). But the truth is, I've spent hours upon hours on this portrait. Sleepless nights and daydreamed afternoons. Blocking out composition, flipping through color palettes, comparing Sharpie tips. Mentally. I've done this all mentally. I've imagined ten different positions, hundreds of words, a dozen different sizes. It all came without prompt, for this is the way it has always been. Every serious artwork of mine has been born of long hours in the mind, tumbling until polished and ready to place. I'm not saying it's instant---some have spent weeks and even months in the grind---but once I've seen the job clearly in my head, it only takes the time to draw/paint/cut/paste/weld before I'm done.

While this might be a problem come tomorrow night's due date, I don't dislike my methods. Although every one of my art teachers never understood it (and usually didn't believe it, for that matter), it's the natural approach for me, and I've grown used to its ways. What I am wondering is, how do you think it through? Not just in art ways, naturally, but in everything---papers to pinatas. Do you outline your approach or just hack at it?

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*So I threw some Eragon into the Potter. It happens.