Hello, studio mates—
The world is extra noisy right now, and I’ve gone quieter trying to sort and filter though. But I have found solace and hope and moments of light reading words from fellow artists, poets, thinkers, friends (and meeting with them too) and I know my creative practice has bolstered me amidst it all. It’s my hope our shared studio can be an offering of grounding for us all. For those of you who joined our January Wake + Walk challenge, thank you—and may walking continue to offer you a way to find space, clarity, or whatever you might walk with and seek. I’ll be headed out in the snow to wander a bit after sending this note to you.
These past few weeks I’ve made some stilted attempts at daily rituals and flow. I sift through what might scaffold me as opposed to what might stifle my creativity or seems too rigid or prescribed. I resist morning routines even as I recognize how they often tether my days in a positive way. I remind myself that winter is meant to be slow and quiet, and I take each day as it comes.
The things holding steady in my days are (ever and always) doing something with my hands, be it writing or sketching, slow sips of hot tea and getting cozy by the picture window in the living room with my family, dipping in and out of stacks of books. And yes, walks.
All my walks have been different, but looking back I see one common denominator: inner silence. Walking and silence belong together. Silence is as abstract as walking is concrete.
—Erling Kagge, Walking One Step at a Time
I’m not sure I found inner silence on my walks, but then, I’m always creating in conversation. I sought that silence by taking my walks without listening to something or talking but my own head brings chatter enough.
I happened upon this post on daily walks as creative practice, and Gabriela compares “walking while noticing the world around me with very little distraction” and “walking through physical and emotional distress, with tentative steps.”
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Years ago, I used to carry some of Janet Cardiff’s audio walks on my iPod and find myself transported to a specific place in the world I’d never gotten to experience before, with only sound as guide. While I can’t find those, she now offers these video walks you can embark on without leaving your cozy listening spot.
I sat down one spring day to write about walking and stood up again, because a desk is no place to think on the large scale.
—Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking
In February, we take the mental space we may have found through walking (or claim it anew if needed), and shift our focus to still life. Below, I’m sharing some prompts to carry into your creative practice this month, and plans to gather live in March for our discussion on Artists at Home.
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