Category: Art
Thursday, Dec 5, 2024 | Art, Drawing, Meditation, Peace, Space, Spirit |
Day 5 Prompt
Draw while listening to whale song — eyes open or closed. Free-write for 5 mins.
Note: Listen to Humpback whale song by scrolling down this wikipedia link. Materials: black pen, crayons, water colours. Music: whale song. I wrote about what it feels like when someone doesn’t have time for my whimsy and playfulness, and I see myself through their eyes. I understand their impatience, even their disgust at my time-wasting; and yet, the delight of doing projects (like this one — of my own invention, for no super-obvious practical reason) carries me along. I notice when what I’m doing isn’t landing. And I’m patient. Most of the things that matter to me take time to unfold. Lots of time. It takes time to go deep. But like the whale, I need to surface too, and breathe in the world.
xo, Carrie
Wednesday, Dec 4, 2024 | Art, Drawing, Fire, Manifest, Play, Source |
Day 4 Prompt
Draw & write. Something you asked for and did not receive. (Do you still want it?)
Notes: pen & watercolour; songs: “Basement Apartment” by Sarah Harmer and “Atlantic,” by The Weather Station. The text reads a bit like a series of grievances, which was not where I’d originally imagined this going. But I got somewhere interesting. The final scrawl on the page reads: I asked to not have to ask — and that did not happen.
xo, Carrie
Monday, Dec 2, 2024 | Art, Spirit |
Day 2 Prompt
Draw yourself as an animal. If this animal could talk what would it say?
Notes: Watercolour and 0.4mm fine Sharpie pen. Songs: Sweet Jane, by Cowboy Junkies and Closer, by Tegan and Sara.
xo, Carrie
Sunday, Nov 24, 2024 | Art, Drawing, Fun, Holidays, Manifest, Organizing, Play, Source, Space, Spirit, Stand, Writing |
To begin: a summarized version of this post. December 1 – December 24, I’m planning to share a simple daily draw/write prompt, and my response to it.
Let me know if you’d like to be involved!
What you’ll need: notebook, pen, 10 minutes/day.
Read on for the longer version…
When the kids were little, I purchased an advent calendar from Ten Thousand Villages that has small pockets in which to place treats, or,—as I decided, as an ambitious young(er) mom—delightful, seasonal activities to be shared as a family. Cookie baking, dinner by candlelight, delivery treats to friends, for example. Aspirational, to be sure, and suffice it say, the only activity that actually happened with consistency was “hot chocolate for breakfast.” I’m pretty sure I gave up at some point and put chocolate coins into the pockets. Much more popular.
But a few years ago, when all the kids were still living at home (pandemic; it was cozy), we co-created family activities for the calendar—and it was genuinely successful. It only worked because we were cooped up and looking to add variety and entertainment, even on the smallest of scales, to our dull days. We scribbled ideas onto scraps of paper, which were distributed into the pockets, and every day there came a new surprise. The kids had the best ideas, of course. One favourite was to wear someone else’s clothes for the day. Another was to buy ice cream to deliver to grandparents within walking distance. We may not have succeeded in doing every single activity, but we came close, and it was fun.
This year, I’ve refilled the pockets with scraps of paper. The kids who want advent calendars will be getting chocolate/candy versions instead (honestly, it’s what they want!).
This year’s calendar is for me, and for you, and for anyone who wants to join in and play along. Every scrap of paper has a draw/write prompt on it. Call it the “creative pause” version of an Advent calendar. All you’ll need is a notebook and a pen (add in some crayons if you want to make it extra exciting). My plan is for this to be interactive so you can share with me too.
In theory, I’ll post a daily prompt, and my response to the prompt, mostly likely on Instagram… every day from Dec. 1 – Dec. 24 (though I could post it here as well if anyone requests it in the comments).
In practice, I’ll do my very best to make it so!
The prompts are not related to Advent in any obvious way. These 24 days are merely an opportunity presented and (hopefully!) taken; I already have a calendar with pockets! It’s a busy season, and the light is diminishing. Let’s see if we can find 10 minutes a day to reflect, scribble, wander through the mind, and spark a small bright fire.
xo, Carrie
Thursday, Sep 5, 2024 | Art, Big Thoughts, Current events, Death, Family, Library, Play, Source, Space, Spirit, Summer, Work, Writing |
There is so little to say, and so much.
I want to express the ways in which I’m changing, the shifts occurring in my mind, and in my outlook—but it’s not entirely clear … I’m floating along a deep wide river. The way I understand my own identity is changing, changing, changing. For most of my life, I was focused on being a writer. And it became my defended self, a self that required defending because I had no sustained confidence in its heft or even its existence—prove yourself, said the voice in my head, over and over.
That voice has grown so gentle.
Now that voice in my head says, there’s more and more and more—more life, more love, more space, more time than you’d ever imagined. Soak it in. Float. Spread out of your arms. Watch the sky, the leaves and branches moving on the trees, listen to the wealth of stories pouring in. This generous world.
And how I wish and hope to be a generous being while I’m here.
Spaciousness.
I feel it within me, surrounding me, available at all times. So much spaciousness. A lack of pressure (not a lack of challenge).
How can I explain what is impossible to describe? It is not that I have more time, but that time itself expands to accommodate so many threads and layers and textures of experiences. When I am restless with my environment, the voice in my head says, be where you are right now.
And I breathe differently.
It is not always easy to be where you are right now. It might involve challenges like boredom or pain or discomfort. Yes. And when I am here right now those challenges shift and become otherwise—boredom may be a conduit to concentrated observation; pain may invite breath; discomfort illuminates emotion; love and patience and depth of understanding weave into the experience of being.
I have been learning this my whole life, with my whole body, which offers its sensations and movements and feelings to the interpretation of my mind, and which acts as a container for my spirit, that droplet of essence that connects me to all beings.
I arrived here on earth to learn, to soak in beauty in its rawest forms—taste, smell, touch, light and shadow, sound, rhythm, anchors to my place of being. I arrived with the desire to push my body to its limits (not always in healthy ways, but that’s part of learning). I wanted to feel everything. I wanted to experience everything.
The impulse to make things, to respond to and to express all of this wonder at the beauty of it all—that has also been in me since the beginning. I arrived here on earth with the desire to make things (and make things up). I learned to nurture that part of myself—I practiced observation, through writing, playing with language and grammar and imagery. And I learned that to record requires of me a bifurcated attention, attention that must split itself between observing and recording (and interpreting). And I continue to learn that sometimes, sometimes, yes, I do not want to record or interpret what is happening, I want simply to be in the happening. I want to be in it and learn from being in it.
This summer has been a summer of being, not so much doing, and very little recording or interpreting of the doing and being. Hence, very little blog writing. But not never. Why lean on never, ever? There is time, there is time.
I arrived here on earth to learn.
When I notice all the spaciousness around me, through which I move and breathe and live, I learn in ways that resist expression. I settle myself in deeper. Everything shimmers. Time expands. I am, you are, we are. Learning together.
xo, Carrie
Monday, Jul 15, 2024 | Adventure, Art, Family, Fire, Friends, Fun, Peace, Source, Space, Spirit, Spring, Summer, Yoga |
In April, I embarked on a “spring burst”, aka return to the gym, with the initial intention of spending a month trying out spin and weights classes, in an effort to boost my cardio and strength.
I was a runner for many years. But it’s high-impact, and I am a woman well into middle age, and no amount of yoga seemed to help with the pain that would flare while running, even relatively short distances. It’s hard to stop doing something you love, and there is no replacement for the runner’s high, or being outside on a misty morning before the world has woken up. But. I’m trying to listen to my body and be softer with myself, so I let the running go (mostly). As of this spring, I’d been doing yoga twice a day for at least a year, and meditation regularly, and an occasional weights class with friends. Sometimes I’d bike to work. But suffice it to say, there came a moment in my weights-class-with-friends when I was gasping for air, my heart racing, and the thought arose: gee, I could really use some more cardio in my life.
Ergo: Carrie’s spring burst.
The first spin class damn near killed me, mostly because I go hard, no matter the challenge. I almost fell off my bike. I was light-headed, panting, dripping sweat, and not even close to keeping up with the instructor’s choreo directions. Yes, I go to a gym where the spin classes have choreo; and yes, this adds a certain soupçon of danger and thrill to each sweaty, fast-paced, rhythmically pumped up class—but that’s why I return, to be frank: to be challenged, mentally and physically, to occasionally reach a goal I’ve set or smile at myself while trying. I also look forward to the moment in each class where my worries vanish into the effort, and my mind goes quiet.
My spring burst has stretched into a summer of strength, or maybe a summer of sweat (haven’t come up with a title yet).
I’ve tried every available class, from weights to power to pilates to yoga to the hilarious humiliation of a what seemed like an aerobics class to boxing. As mentioned, I throw myself in deep, and am therefore currently in gym rat mode. It’s not that other things aren’t happening, social and emotional. But this is the place I’m returning to, as a form of a vacation, to give my mind rest, and to enjoy my body. Weight training is apparently critical during the peri-menopause / menopause era; and that’s me. Age happens, and with age, limitations; yet my body and mind can adapt and learn new things.
Summer loving. Bougie gym summer.
We aren’t travelling very far this summer. The kids are all living at home. The schools are closed, so I don’t have a job in the library for nine or ten weeks (haven’t done the math). I’m trying to revise a book manuscript, but honestly, if I do so, it will only be because it makes sense for my mental health, and not any other reason. The costs of artistic ambition seem altogether too steep; and this is not a new Alice-Munro-revelations-thought for me either, though has probably been somewhat cemented by that. I’ve long wondered and worried about the wisdom (for myself personally) of pouring so much energy and time and attention into what amounts to a series of personal passion projects—at times I would feel possessed, as if I was trying to cure an obsession or compulsion with novel-writing. And maybe it did help, for awhile—I have no regrets. I’m proud of my accomplishments. And—and! I hope for something quite different: a humble legacy of love and care, for strong and lasting connections and relationships, built on trust and kindness and open doors.
That’s my aim. That’s my over-arching goal.
What I’m finding is that if I prioritize connections, serving and feeding relationships, including paying attention to the the feelings and sensations in my own body, I can’t go wrong. The discomfort and disorientation of being disconnected, not in a right relationship, is a powerful cue for change. This might mean entering into difficult conversations. This might mean being open to hearing hard truths. This might mean hearing “no,” when I’d prefer to hear “yes!” It might mean shifting direction, allowing my priorities to shift too. Whatever possibilities lie before me, I hope to choose connection.
Summer delight. Summer solace. Summer song.
xo, Carrie
