Altering State of Bind

Four weekends ago I went to an Altered Book workshop at Smith Farm Center for Healing and the Arts.  I walked from Dupont Circle, a crisp walk, to U Street where Smith Farm sits, rang the bell and skipped up the narrow stairs to an open, brightly lit, airy space. I was late so I tried to slide in unannounced but the group was too small for that. Instead, I was immediately greeted by Dari, Smith Farm's Program Director, then by Rebecca Wilkinson, MA, ATR-BC, next by Gioia Chilton, MA, ATR-BC, both presenters and all extremely lovely ladies....

Two Thursdays ago, I again attended yet another SmithFarm event.  This was an intriguing lecture, Art and the Intersubjective Experience by Art Therapist, Savneet Talwar.  It wasn't at all what I expected it to be....

So, this is where I get stuck.

I've been writing this post for almost a month.  A prime example of strike while the iron's hot.  I was so excited to be doing this workshop, the lecture and even more excited to finally meet these ladies I've talked to, gotten advice from for over a year.  But I lost something along the way.  At least I thought I did.

Both these events were so much fun.  Actually more than just fun.  I felt like I could explode from sheer excitement.  Getting my hands dirty with paint and clay, communing with others who have everything and nothing in common with me, sharing-receiving-giving new meanings to my perception on life/art.  I can't really give any concrete reasons and I don't want to go into specifics about my experience.  Its one of those "you had to be there" experiences and that's what took so long to come to.  I couldn't find the words to write so I wrote nothing.  Today it was found.  The excitement was rekindled today as I worked on my altered book.

We got about 30 inches of snow between last night and today.  I went to my sunroom studio to take in the beauty of the snow only to find the weight of the snow broke several branches of my magnolia tree off into my neightbor's yard and on my back deck.  I have 6 magnolias that have grown tall and full over the 10 years I've lived here in this house.  I thought nothing could take them down.  They were the main reason I moved here.  Steel Magnolia is what my grandmother once called me.  The tree is my personal symbol and the magnolia is the one I identify with the most.  Looking at that those sturdy branches hang low, bent over and cracked brought about an emotion I'm not sure I can describe in words.  But my altered book was sitting on my art desk, open to a page of a hummingbird picture I put in but wasn't satisfied with.

I opened my drawer of paints, pulled a couple of paint brushes from my can, kneeled down and began to paint my reaction to my trees.  When I stepped away, it was complete and my expression was caught in this book.  No more hummingbird, just my feeling for a fallen tree.  Tomorrow my husband and I will go out to evaluate the damage and I'm okay with cutting away the branches; cutting a tree down altogether.  Its okay to let go and see things from a different perspective. 

I couldn't write before because what I learned had not been absorbed or fully understood.  It was fun but the purpose of these exercises was to examine, to probe, to find meaningful ways to apply art-making and viewing to one's life.  I think that's what happened today.  From the process of tearing apart and re-creating, a new life emerged that has healing and transformative power.  I've held onto those trees, my identity for so long, but those trees got so full they didn't allow for light to shine through to the ground. 

I tried growing a garden last year but we all know gardens need sunlight.  I was emotionally attached to my trees so to save the trees I decided to figure out how to grow a moss garden.  I was hiding the fact that I really wanted to grow fruits and vegetables.  Long story short, I think there will be new life for my garden this Spring.

I really dig going to Smith Farm.