A Seurat scene

10 March 2009

I love jigsaw puzzles because they are a metaphor for my life; 500,000 nearly indistinguishable pieces of pressed cardboard scattered on a coffee table for the casual puzzler's perusal: doesn't look like much.

I like it when sometimes you dump out the pieces and a couple are stuck together already-- a double length of picket fence, the front legs, mane and left eye of a palomino.

I always start by spreading them evenly, face up--push the edges to one side, the sky pieces to one corner, grass gathers in another, red brick pieces, grey wood pieces. And slowly this confetti world begins to grow into townhouses, a lamp post, an electric street car.

And sometimes the pieces suddenly all fit neatly into place, each fragment of flower petal matching into a hydrangea bush which lines the lawn along the lane which disappears beneath some sets of feet.

And sometimes the pieces--some grey shards and a few scraps of unearthly yellow--just sit and stare up at you, refusing to suggest usefulness. At which point the whole delightful exercise sputters to a halt, and I step back to view an unmapped archipelago of puzzle.

I know it will become that charming summer scene, complete with a hopscotch game and picnicking lovers, but today I'm more in the mood for scrabble.