I’ve just come inside after a late morning session of wood hauling. Wheel barrow to trailer, wood to wheel barrow, wheel barrow to wood pile, wood to pile. Repeat. It’s fairly mindless labor once you’ve got a system, and so often that’s just what you need after an earlier morning session of thinking and typing. Doing something very different can be just the reset you need when things feel stale.
Lately, thanks to my Writing the Wild course, drawing and watercolor painting has been another way to use my creativity differently than usual. Usually I just wander around outside and write, but lately I’ve added (in addition to wood stacking) painting to the mix. I did a lot of sketching as a kid, and have always had a sketch book, but I don’t fill them up as much as I used to. It’s been a delightful way to remember what it’s like to create in other ways, and vary how I’m processing ideas.
One of our early prompts was drawing or painting a tree every day. Which I love doing anyway—trees have always been my go to thing to draw. How many sketches can one have of trees? Lots, as it turns out. Somehow it never gets old. There are always more branches or trunks or roots to give my attention to.
Anyway, it’s been fun, and good timing, as I needed a respite from straight writing output. After publishing seven books in about seven years (plus another one that’s coming out next spring..1) it’s been a pretty big push to keep writing. Drawing and painting instead has helped refill the well, at least enough to write a new poem every now and then.
Like this one, that I scribbled into my big blue art journal the other day… which is a little bit note to self, a little bit reminder to anybody who is targeted by ads. So, everyone.
Instructions for Living
No one can tell another
how to live—so be wary
of anybody selling that particular
brand of promise. There is no way
you'll get your money's worth.
Rather, go get some seeds,
or a pair of snowshoes, or adopt
a creaturely companion to keep you
company on the trail—anything
that gets you outside, interacting
with wild things like soil and snow
and your own breath meeting air
as you move through the woods—
anything that reminds you you're alive
and it's time to pay attention
to the path you're on.
So the moral of the story is this, I suppose, and something that we talk about in the creativity chapter of 12 Tiny Things a bit, too:
Our ability to create something out of nothing or transforming something into something else is worthy of our awe. Engaging in creativity renews our sense of personhood, alters our perspective, and helps us get in touch with the profound nature of ourselves. Creating adds dignity and value to our time and place, to our lives and communities. Just start. Remember how it feels to create. We’ll meet at the margins. Beauty awaits us there.
Tap into the modes of creating that are right there in front of you. Bake. Knit. Stack the wood in interesting patterns. Make a rock garden. Sway to the sound of the breeze blowing through the branches. See if you can still play that flute that’s in the back of the closet.2 You don’t have to be a master of the craft to practice the craft and enjoy doing it. Just start. Remember what it feels like to create.
Event note! I’m doing a pop up book signing at River Lights Bookstore in Dubuque, Iowa, since I’ll be in town for the 12 Tiny Things for Advent workshop. If you’re in the area, I hope to see you there. 6pm!
Cover reveal coming soon….
I did this the other day with my oboe, which I played in high school and college and hadn’t picked up for quite a few years. Almost like riding a bike when it comes to remembering where to put my fingers on the keys, except I am very rusty at actually reading music.