I’ve Noticed
This quote by Thomas Merton, The Way of Chuang Tzu, is one with which I open almost any mixed media event:
When an archer is shooting for nothing, he has all his skill.
If he shoots for a brass buckle, he is already nervous.
If he shoots for a prize of gold, he goes blind or sees two targets.
He is out of his mind.
His skill has not changed.
But the prize divides him.
He cares.
He thinks more of winning than of shooting
And the need to win drains him of power.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And its relevance was most apparent in the one I just taught in Whidbey Island, Washington State. Exploring Minimalism in Mixed Media. Its strong connection is not only with our creative practices, with The Way of Chuang Tzu, but also with the way we live outside of these creative practices. Minimalism: frugality, humility, and acceptance of what is as enough. I’ve noticed that beauty is noticeable in the void. In empty spaces, uncluttered. Surfaces not layered. In places where nothing is happening. At least not quite yet. I’ve noticed that there are workshops and retreats that I guide where I am sucked right into the content I myself create. To the questions that arise, and the multiple surprising and awe inspiring replies and alternatives. I’ve noticed, being drawn into expressive minimalism has its obvious reasons. Some of them are more vague, even mysterious, and may offer boundless and lingering examinations, beyond the time frame of a workshop or a retreat. I’ve noticed how while I am teaching, I am mostly learning. Learning a thing, or two, or many, about the nature of minimalism from hours of driving through men-carved roads between forested wet humble mountains, from simply working hard and seemingly relentlessly, from facing and noticing how ‘blank canvases’ gain deep meaning without multilayered effort. Learning from a place that embodies minimalism, Whidbey Island, embracing limited time, in vast land of Lavender and ‘maximalist’ buzzing busy bees. Teaching, but mostly myself, and learning from others and from blessed encounters that follow. From moving vessels, like cars, ferries, from walking on bumpy driftwood shores, meandering paths between structures, and sleeping on soft mattresses.
Learning.
To simplify. To be firm in wanting it.
To quiet. Quiet. Quiet. To move s-l-o-w-l-y.
To pacify my heart and others’. To rely on nature, all around me, and my own.
To accept what is.
To be in an empty space and fill it with only breaths.
To leave moments gracefully.
To quietly merge into another.
To touch matter with great respect.
With honoring.
To shoot for absolutely NOTHING.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Thank you for visiting with me here, for listening and reading WHAT IS BETWEEN US, a reader-supported column. To receive new posts directly in your email box please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
🤎🤍🖤
My husband and I are immersing ourselves in clearing out unloved, unnecessary and too long held stuff. Your article is perfect timing to remind us that beauty is in the void , a void that can be filled with breaths. Our fierce and firm determination will get us there. Thank you for your wise words.
Your words, dear one always, always resonate with me. My heart. My soul and the place in me that has no title, no name. The part of me that is invisible, but always present. I feel it. It lingers with every move I make. Day or night. It can be a gift or an anchor I must carry or drop. When I ponder this I think I choose to carry this 'unknown', 'invisible', 'unnamed' element of my being, because I don't want to give up on the small things it leaves behind as time passes. This whatever it is, the very least of me, is what gently nudges me forward, and to do that I must resolve to go slower. A different kind of momentum, but one that propels me and, honestly, oddly is quite reliable actually. I won't ever settle for a half life, but minimalism is not always, or doesn't have to be, barren; what is already there, right there on the edges of what we truly need.(That might be a clumsy way of stating the obvious) So maybe that unnamed thing in me is a combination of a little bit of curiosity, wonder and awe. And also just maybe, there is a bucket of the contrary waiting on the side to dump right over my head. And now, dear friend, I'm simply being silly. Thank you for allowing me the space to ponder all of this.