Good Morning Starlight,
I invite you to first read thirsty a short piece I wrote that was was published this week on Sadhana’s blog … (then come back here and read on)
About a month ago, I was invited to contribute a piece of writing to Sadhana, my beloved yoga studio led by artist-mover-extraordinaire Sondra Loring. It was remarkable how difficult it was for me to feel comfortable doing so. As I moved from the feeling of gladness and honor, I began to feel frozen, unsure of what to write about, and unsure of my writing altogether. I mentioned to a friend that the stakes were zero, and yet I felt outsized by doubt and discomfort.
Rick Rubin said (paraphrasing from memory here…), "Everything I make is a diary entry. It is for me. Only I decide that it's what I want to say. Only I decide that it's what I need. Only I decide that it's good. Everything you make can be as personal and honest as a diary entry and be made for you first." In other words all his artwork is an honest notation of his wonder.
I was struck by something Sulieka Jaouad recently shared in her Substack about her experience painting. She has been painting at a residency, and as the ending approached, she was asked if she would sell her paintings and how much for them. She immediately froze and felt the sudden slippery shift of losing confidence to paint unhindered by value judgments. She determined she would not sell her paintings as a method for her to paint her paintings freely and complete them safely.
Sunday Circle feels like a secret to me. It is clearly not a secret. I don't advertise it other than on a whim. I just quietly send these notes out as if they are scraps tucked into a glass bottle thrown into the ocean for unknown loves to find at unknown times. In this way I feel safe to write whatever the F I want to.
It seems important that we all find methods and spaces for creating in the dark places where we are unafraid to say the word, brush the red stroke, or wiggle our bodies in a weird way. Then, just like a little black walnut, our shell can crack open a bit, and light moves in. We grow out towards others, and we share ourselves or our work, knowing our roots are deep and strong in source material.
Touching Matters
Save the date! I will be sharing my most recent ceramic collection at Alder & Co in Hudson, NY, on June 15th from 5 to 7 p.m. The collection will be in store (442 Warren st) through the summer.
I have attended 5 Rhythms several times (in Cold Spring, if you’re ever curious). The way I approach it is that I imagine I am in my own dance show. I never make eye contact with another (not on purpose, anyway), I close my eyes as often as possible. I love to dance but I’m not a performer. I love to make a dance and imagine the space, color, music, costume, and also the movement but I don’t love it for being watched. I love it for living in it. My whole creative self is so fucked up from the academic model. I always got complements and good grades for my art work and I translated that into my value as a person— but unlike getting this positive reinforcement as a young person who is good at math/science/engineering (most of my family, btw), a student who is good at the arts spends finds that the world/your family/your advisers/your self ask you to put all that nonsense aside and get a real job. When I think of making something (a poem, a drawing, a dance) I think of how it will be received, and then I think of how I hate that I think of this. If I was better (in some/any way), I wouldn’t care what others thought. I envy your bravery in writing whatever the F you want here. I am afraid that if I say in what I really want on my own substack, I will make myself unemployable. My work identity is one that
I guard, to keep it from getting too weird, too angry, too real. My public persona is safe and made to put others at ease and make myself useful to them. I am not entirely sure what the “whatever the F I want” is because it has never felt practical, accessible, reasonable, responsible to go there. In 5 Rhythms, I do move however the F I want. It is wild and weird or simple
and commonplace. But there is no record of it anywhere- perhaps that’s why i can go there.