There is Time, and Then There is Time

 I learned today that The National Institute of Standards and Technology has announced the new "most accurate clock in the world. The clock is based on a “fountain” design that represents the gold standard of accuracy in timekeeping. The NIST-F4 ticks at such a steady rate that if it had started running 100 million years ago, when dinosaurs roamed, it would be off by less than a second today.

Whew. While that brings no retroactive relief to the now vanished dinos, it did make me think about the vagaries of time - the primary thought was wondering why tracking time with such mind boggling accuracy was important enough to have a National Institute. And if said institute was among those shuttered during the government shutdown - was there an impact on time, current or Paleolithic? But I digress.

I'm more concerned about the impact of everyday ordinary time in my life. And it does shift. For example, I have designated the hours between 6 and 9 AM as PST - Prime Sleeping Time, the hours during which I get my best sleep. 2 PM is nap time, which is however often sacrificed to MBT - Most Boring Time, when I wait in the waiting room of some healthcare office to be seen for some malady which is directly linked to SDA - Sole Driver Activity. But I digress, yet again.

My real interest is in how time affects the creative process - primarily painting. As I have mentioned before Rembrandt asserted that "a painting is finished when the artist says it is finished." Which, problematically, leaves open the possibility of a painting never being finished. You know, if the artist never says "There. It is finished!" 

And that brings us to Leonardo d'Vinci, and his reputation for leaving a variety of projects unfinished when he was seduced away by the challenge of another "more interesting" opportunity. His famous notebooks are ample evidence of a mind never at rest. And might shed light on this polymath artist who carried the Mona Lisa with him all his life. Perhaps he never thought it was finished.

In light of full disclosure, much of this reflection on time comes from my discovery - from browsing through my picture gallery - that I have been working on the current "carriages and greenery and circles" kind of image for almost three months. It doesn't seem that long, just lying on the floor drawing on a big picture.

But that might be because when I submerge myself into this environment: 

time really does not exist. 

Well, the NIST-F4 is still tick-tocking away, but it has no relevance in my life. I think I quoted an anonymous source recently that asserted that: "When I am using my hands I do not have to think." That is not exactly what I mean when I say time does not exist when I am painting. I always listen to music while drawing and the genre of music influences where my thoughts drift. Years, places and people, crowd the edges of my drawings. And it is in that revery that time does not intrude. 

However, when the rough edges of time from the dinosaurs intrude - dinner gatherings, appointments, the doorbell, security camera - the drawing suffers. Bits and pieces fall outside the lines, and I have to stop. Often "tyrannosaurus-NISTus" distractions haul me away for hours at a time. Gulp, even days. But even though it takes awhile, eventually I can take up bit of color again and banish time.