A Tattered Yearning

Feb 6

On this side of the world, February is a quiet, introspective time, often accompanied by the yearning for spring. It can be a dark and dreary time, but this is fertile ground for making and creating. Creativity is fed by allowing darkness, boredom, loneliness and uncertainty — allowing these unwelcome things to rise and make something of themselves. I am thinking about how the seeds we plant now, in the earth or in our hearts, are the ones that blossom in spring. The spring needs our seeds.

I have been collecting winter seeds on my walks in the woods. Having something I want to notice, like seeds, gives me more awareness of what is afoot in the gray brown woods of winter, makes me forget my own dark mood. Before this season I did not know what a tulip tree pod looked like. These seeds have turned me around, connecting me back to the story of Psyche’s first task, and to painting and drawing and walking.

Images of winter seeds: maple, chive, yucca, pear, Chinese yam, sweetgum — Winter seeds from my walks: maple, chive, yucca, pear, Chinese yam, sweetgum, shagbark hicory

This past year has been focused on writing. I didn’t stop painting altogether, but writing was central. Now that my book proposal has been sent out to publishers, I have all this room in my studio. Sigh and yay! I rolled out a 3’ x 10’ sheet of Japanese paper, chose words (a poem) that I want to imbibe — I want to become the person in the poem saying “the palms of my hands would listen”.* I started writing out the poem in one of my alphabets. So small at first. You can tell the scale from the penny I put at the top. You may have guessed that I write with my eyes closed. This gives me a great sense of pleasure, connection and freedom. Even if you don’t have a long table or much space, you can take a roll of paper, and unroll it a bit at a time, adding to it each day. You can get through the darkest of winter days by having something you do each day, regardless of what is going on inside or outside of you.

Image of writing in one of Laurie Doctor's invented alphabets

This is how I begin the time in my studio: I put my pen down, close my eyes, and write words that I wish to become. I am writing in my alphabet, but any alphabet works.

Here is a short video of me walking in the woods, looking for seeds, and then writing connected letters with my eyes closed (press full screen button):

This is how the painting “Temenos” (8’ x 3’) began, with the smallest writing in the background — I want to give you an idea of how I begin in the dark, with no idea where I am headed: