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For some time now, I’ve had an internal running joke that I’ve occasionally externalized. It goes something like “If I’m ever to enter into any sort of relationship again, someone will just have to fall from the sky, start fixing shit, and then go (the fuck) away.”
In other news, my muse has disappeared into the mountains for an undetermined amount of time. While I never specified the kind of relationship, it ultimately and hilariously satisfies the parameters of my request, and his absence has an edge that deepens my gratitude for solitude. It’s nice to miss someone’s presence, yet still feel content. I’m surprised to find my nervous system looking forward to hearing stories of his adventures when he returns instead of inventing a million stories of its own about his absence.
One thing that has been grounding me is my daily ritual. A couple years ago, I started a practice of spending the last hour of my night among my art supplies. No screens (unless I need a reference image) but access to all of the art supplies I have been hoarding. Getting started was pretty simple. I have a planner that I use to summarize every day with a few sentences, and that was the bare minimum I needed to accomplish in that time. A couple of weeks in, I tried using Lynda Barry’s Syllabus as a sort of “prompt” to get me started, and I threw a temper tantrum over the sheer amount of ridiculous rules in that book and quit the practice for like a month (sorry, Lynda! You are wonderful, but you’re waaaaay to ruly for me!) (Like, srsly, I don’t even talk to one person in a given WEEK, how’m I supposed to write about several interactions in a DAY?)
I eventually came back to it with Zentangles, and that really helped. Zentangles are simple enough to fall back on when there is nothing else on my mind, meditative enough to hold my focus for an hour at a time, and cool looking enough to make me feel like I’ve spent my time making something worthwhile. Plus, Zentangles have the added bonus of being something I can do while talking to customers during my workday.
After zentangling for a bit, I started experimenting with different media. I have always been a chalk pastel person, but I invested in a nice set of oil pastels and played with blending them. I also tried working with things like acrylic paint pens, and watercolor pens. They are both so gratifyingly buttery on the page, and allow for layering when fully dry so they can be mixed and matched with other media.
Another thing I have done to make sure I’m getting my hands dirty on a daily basis is make little portable file boxes with art supplies in them that I can lug out onto the porch or deck or even off into the forest if I’d like.
This year, in mid-spring I devised this ritual:
I enter the space where I’ll be performing the ritual. Usually I create a playlist or at least choose an artist or theme of music. If I’m outside, I might choose to listen to the birds, instead. But there is almost always music.
I light a candle or incense, and take some time to sit with my feelings and the events of the day. The events may be in my own life, but usually this is the time I take to process what is typically horrible news from around the world, the country, my town. If I need to use the internet during this time to reflect, that’s cool. I try to take screenshots throughout the day of things I need to reflect on and process, but I also don’t want to take up too much time with this part of the ritual, and there is so much bad new these days. I admit sometimes I just can’t feel it all. However, it’s at this point that I usually have a good cry. I don’t know about y’all, but I cry several times a day these days. However, it’s nice to have a space and time to let it all out.
Once I’m done with that, I’ll move into reading. I usually have at least one book I’m reading, along with a zine or comic book, and a few different poetry/philosophy/inspirational essay books. Right now, I’m reading The Assassination of Fred Hampton by Jeffrey Haas, a book of poetry by Wendell Berry, the Tao te Ching, and some books on pagan holidays. I’m between zines right now, but I was reading some issues of an old zine by a friend of mine in Austin that I probably would not have been friends with if I had read his zine today. hahaha.
After that, I choose my medium and sit with whatever it is I need to sit with and make something. Sometimes it will be a little poem, or just a recollection about my day in my journal. Sometimes it’s art; a drawing of something I saw or am looking at, word art about a song I’m listening to, something in the news. Sometimes I listen to the news and just write random words in various places on the page, overwriting and overlapping and underlapping and twisting and turning with different media and various colors until almost the whole page is just a blur of random pen strokes.
Sometimes, I’ll do multiple things. Occasionally, I’ll leave something unfinished, or finish something I previously began. Often when I’m done I’ll take pictures of whatever I’ve created. If there’s a good groove jamming, I might finish with a little dance. Then I tidy everything back up, blow out the candle, turn off of the music, and close the ritual. Usually afterwards I share something I’ve made with someone I love.
I often talk about how I love that winter in Maine is like an annual reset. The slate of the outdoor space is wiped clean for whatever spring brings. Having a daily ritual that involves space to grieve, reflect, celebrate, and share is sort of like winter in Maine. Look at that! I create the seasons!
And that, my friends, is how I am nourishing my soul during these times. Fuck the dishes! Make art, instead.
How are you getting through it all?
Musical interlude: Tame Impala – Solitude is Bliss https://youtu.be/-F2e9fmYL7Y?si=xPG7FIPBUOBzLl6O
enjoying the getting to know. This weekend was also a little cooking (more cooking to come) a little cleaning (more cleaning to come) some walks and talks…and lots of chilling in the backyard. My friends who are staying with me (who I need to think of a clever name for, as I’ll doubtless be referring to them a lot) have kicked so much ass at getting the yard in shape for planting. They’ve cleared and tilled three huge beds, we’ve all schemed a less-conventional succulent / hummingbird / butterfly bed, and they’ve made good with my neighbor, whose little garden was being overshadowed by some weeds in my back yard. There’s talk of chickens. There’s talk of greenhouses. There’s endless talk of gardens and gardening. I’m still slowly rearranging my time to begin to accommodate, but it’s difficult to begin! We’ve created a sitting area outside that has been encouraging me to just sit and watch the sun (or moon) move across the sky. The dog only adds to this notion of sit and stay. Especially since, being new here and nervous, any move I make is shadowed by her. The more I sit and relax, the more relaxed she becomes. And, thankfully, the energy level of a Great Dane, as Lulu is, is much much lower than that of a boxer, which my last nervous dog was…so there’s plenty of sloth and relaxation.
This weekend also included a meditation/remembrance of the passage of Texas HB 2 – the bill that has been responsible for the closure of over 61% of Texas clinics that provide abortions and other healthcare services, leaving many people – particularly those who are already poor and marginalized – without access to safe abortions. We sat in mediation, did a walking meditation – I walked in circles around the middle of the rotunda floor, did another sitting meditation and then had discussion. It was a beautiful memorial. It was very healing…and it got me thinking about reclaiming spaces. I’m still thinking about reclaiming spaces. I need more time to think about it, I think. And journal about it. Before I write about it. Publicly. But I am thinking about it. Reclaiming. I’m also thinking about how hard some people have to seem to work to get the rewards that so many people take for granted. And I’m not even referring to the least among us. I’m talking about everyday people you might see and think “Hey – that person does alright.” and really they are pinching pennies to buy gas, or riding the bus not to be a hipster but because they had their car impounded because they couldn’t afford to renew the registration. And I just feel like if people that I know who are employed, employable, hard-working, able-bodied, intelligent, and genuinely good and decent people are struggling, then I can’t say anything in negative judgment of anyone else who is struggling. I imagine most of them are equally all of the above and equally just totally screwed by circumstance. And that’s all I got to say.
