An interruption…

In my last blog post I wrote about the abundance of amazing classes, processes and materials that I wanted to learn about and work with this summer. I was excited and hopeful about the way these things would find their way back into my work and bring the work to where I see it next. But as so often happens, life can interrupt. Albeit in very glorious and insistent ways but interrupt just the same.

My three adult children live in different states now. California, Maine, and Ohio. I also have two grandchildren out in California (one mere weeks old) and one on the way in Maine. The pandemic made it difficult to be with these cherished loved ones, and the anxiety and enforced separation wore on all of us. As it did with other relatives, friends, and family. So, like many others, the last few months have meant a lot of catch-up. Being able to travel because of my life circumstances, for which I am truly grateful, and now that I am fully vaccinated means that I have been to California, New Jersey, Rhode Island and Maine in the last six weeks. I come home for several days at a time to unpack, do laundry, scramble to catch up and then repack again.

None of the trips are long. But what I am finding is in between I am wanting to soak in summer. I want to sit on my front porch with my tea or fruit and listen to the birds and let my thoughts wander. I want to take long walks on local trails, and through the neighborhoods and notice plantings and flowers that spark ideas for my own gardens. I think about the flower bulbs I want to plant in early fall so that after the grey and cold of too many months of winter, those green shoots emerge…heralding spring…when I am longing to see color and new life.

Studio slowdown

Amid the hectic pace of leaving and coming home only to get ready to leave again, there is little physical, emotional or mental space to wipe the decks clear and concentrate on learning new things. I know that summer is optimal to be doing many of the processes I wrote about in my last post (read here). Particularly cyanotype, hand-made paper explorations and learning to make natural dyes and inks. There has been a certain amount of guilt that I am not knee-deep in the learning process.

A few evenings ago, we hosted a gathering of friends we hadn't seen in well over a year. The table was laden with summer-fresh roasted vegetables, grilled chicken and pasta, baguettes and luscious berries. The conversation was lively, nonstop, layered and tumbling every which way, and the camaraderie and enjoyment of being in the same place and sharing stories and laughter was infectious. Surrounded by laughter and joy, satiated with wine and delicious food, watching dark clouds move in and distant lightning flash while we were all tucked cozily inside, I started to let go. To accept that the many joys, treasures, and gifts of the summer are fleeting and oh so precious, particularly after the long, difficult months of the pandemic-induced physical distance from loved ones, the grey cold winters, and the anxiety of recent political turmoil. These are moments I do not want to miss. I want to, need to reconnect with friends and family, see art in person, give and receive in-person hugs and smiles, bathe in others’ laughter and shared experiences. Quite literally my heart and soul and internal battery need to be replenished with experiences beyond the studio.

Soaking in the moments

I will continue to tuck in creative time making the tea bag collages and drawings to use for cyanotype. And perhaps squeeze in some time for papermaking explorations. But mostly, I will seize every opportunity to revel in summer’s bounty. Relish the peaches, cherries, watermelon, mint and cilantro, iced tea and birdsong. I will wring out every moment of sunshine, summer rain, cool scented twilight breezes and late summer sunsets.

And once my tank feels full once again, with gratitude and fullness, I will happily and eagerly return to the studio…to those classes just waiting in the wings…until I am ready to dive back in.

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