Summer Slump
A summer bounty of flowers
After the anticipation and intense work involved in mounting my solo exhibition, it came down at the end of May. I felt unable to dive back into my work. I was drained, listless, let down and had little desire to actively create. Summer neared. I anticipate summer in the way I did as a child. I imagine leisurely time to read, relax, and daydream. Less demands on my time, less expectation of productivity. And yet, I realize though I talk a good game about summer and its leisurely riches, I rarely make room for them.
There used to be natural lulls of busyness in a calendar year. January and February after the rush of the holidays, or during the summer, when school let out and beaches beckoned. Time to regroup, take stock, regain energy and strength. There is no lull anymore, no time where there is less to do. Having been brought up in a home where hard work and productivity were highly valued and now existing in a world seemingly on fast forward, I feel guilty if I am not actively accomplishing, producing or using my time for something "worthwhile.” Commitments increase, work demands expand, productivity is expected 24/7 and leisure time is frowned upon. Humans are not built for this pace, nor the amount of information bombarding us from all directions. It takes forethought and planning to take oneself out of the fray.
“I make a commitment to reclaim summer and list things I relish.”
Re-committing
Rose hips collected for rose hip tea
I make a commitment to reclaim summer and list things I relish. Start the day outside, with my morning tea, listening to the birds, letting my mind wander (no phone within reach). Plant a cutting garden. Sit on my steps as twilight deepens to night and watch the fireflies emerge. Listen to Great Horned owls’ haunting hoo-hoo calls, while the crickets add their chorus. Lay on my back and look for shooting stars. Bury deep into a book, lost in other worlds, while I sip homemade iced tea. Experiment with summer recipes using bountiful fresh fish, fruits and vegetables. Relish fresh New Jersey corn, crisp and sweet, and ripe peaches as juice runs down my arm. Make rose hip tea from Rugosa Rose hips. Collect and press flowers. Do puzzles. Take a nap on the porch swing. Enjoy leisurely lunches with friends and family not bound by time limits. Weed, water and trim back the garden as the day cools, my mind wandering. Discover art wherever I am. Pay attention. Reclaim and savor my summer.
Studio view: materials on the worktable
I slow down, take time to just be, give myself breaks from the hamster wheel and wallow in summer. An interesting thing begins to happen. I begin to imagine new compositions for my Marking Time pieces. I order materials to start a large cyanotype drawing, and paint back into another. I start to research publishers to approach about producing a limited-edition fine art book of the 355 Marking Time pieces. My urge to create begins to bubble to the surface. I allow my energy, desire, curiosity and creativity to emerge. This is a lesson I seem unable to retain. That much like I tend my physical garden I need to allow room for ideas to flow and become real, to allow seeds to germinate and become mature enough to begin to bear fruit. I hope to hold onto this lesson throughout the year. Carve out the time and give myself permission to pause, be thoughtful, and contemplate where I stand in this world. It is only then and through my work that I find what I want to say, and share with others.
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