studio

hushed

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I was in two minds about whether to write this writing first, or the other one, which I will soon also write and post, but this came first and it felt like it deserved its place.

A hush really descended with the painting and poem that arrived called hush.

‘A hush descended’ – an evocative phrase to which I have never given a moment of serious attention, and all of a sudden the precision of the image is startling, as are the implicit poetics. ‘Descended from where’, I have literally never asked, despite encountering this reality many times.

From wherever it was previously, it descended. Perhaps it also was where it was previously, like a mist.

And it descended on to me, into me, a saturating silence, and had an effect, as to order all the atoms of my being in a peaceful direction, like the magnetic field on iron filings.

Mysteriously this is accompanied by a kind of paralysis of thought, but not an alarming one. Instead of making an effort to dig deep, uncover, investigate, tease out, they drift. A freedom, a mystifying intertwinement of the heights and the depth, and me.

And here I am in that hush and a kind of new beauty feels like it is unfolding.

disturbance

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And then, not quite the moment I’d mentioned the word ‘rhythm’ but not long after, the pattern has been disturbed. I forgot to bring my journal home from the studio, disrupting my normal writing time first thing in the morning. Then I realised that my carefully-herded into a less obstructive timeslot client meeting now required a fully powered laptop, but that that the ageing battery was at 73% and could not be relied on to last. Rushing over to the studio where the charger had been left meant that there was no time to play the piano before I left home.

And so on and so on..

In the wider scheme of things these minor turbulences are, of course, negligible. But I cannot live my creative nature patrolled by the legitimacy police. My creative work is to try to shimmy myself into the tiny cracks of the most vulnerable, neglected places of (my) being. That process is easily disrupted and I cannot help but be protective of it. A luxury, one might remark, and yes, in the context of what is going on around us that luxury is stark. But in the context of my own story it’s not quite so indulgent as that term implies, and perhaps if our world spent a little bit more time and care on its vulnerable places we might sleep easier.

So then, disturbance (category: small, agreed). As the etmology unveils, it is disorder, grief, agitation, turmoil, bewilderment, muddying, stagnation.

In the lightness of this season though, the disturbance, while apparent, is less of a suffering. In one of my favourite television programmes, the idea of ‘stirring up the waters’ is seen as having value, of offering a way out of weary patterns.

Has my rhythm already become a confinement?

Unknown.

I traversed all the minor disturbances, and now I am back in a more or less calm serenity. Or do I delude myself? I am awaiting a message and that message may have power to truly disrupt me, so then, yes, perhaps I am serene, but I am also aware of something stirring the nature of this calm existence, something beyond my reach and beyond my control.

And I wonder what it has to offer?

light

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There is something so light in this week in the studio. Perhaps it’s because of that, that it is only a week, even though I long for something more permanent.

I am accustomed to large-scale, intense, no-end-in-sight-for-months-or-years projects. I have deeply integrated the virtue of difficulty, its capacity to draw out a wildness, a unique depth of self that is rare and to be treasured in our how-long-can-I-distract-your-attention-from-anything-important world.

And then here I am, tumbling into this week, breathless and weary from my other work (in business, since you ask) and I find myself in something so sweet and beautiful and light. I somehow feel no pressure. I have elegantly disembarked from my responsibilities. I had no time to weight the week with intentions. I am existing, pure and free.

It’s such a pleasure and so unusual as a grown woman to encounter such an interlude. And it has, I must admit, taken some diligence and hope to protect it.

But I wander about, peaceful, playing, and I can feel a luminous uncanny that I have not sensed for a long time, magnifying within me.