— William Wordsworth, Prelude

Greetings to all new and returning readers.
Welcome to “A Silver Fraction”* —
a place for makers, writers, thinkers
& anyone who wishes
to leave an imprint, make a mark, inscribe,
write, sing, perform, or paint;
to anyone who wants to make an offering,
no matter how small,
to this world we were given.

*Stray About Voluptuously I & II |* Oil, gold leaf and mixed media on wood 5” x 5” (12.7 cm x 12.7 cm) | © Laurie Doctor

“…creator and receiver both, work in alliance with the works….” — William Wordsworth, Prelude

William Wordsworth’s epic poem, Prelude begins with an invocation to the muse: O welcome messenger! O welcome friend! A captive greets thee, coming from a house of bondage… Wordsworth, like most of us who struggle with what we make, calls out as an inmate wanting to free himself from prison. He activates the muse through his writing, through his willingness to beseech and make transparent his longing. Muse embodies the sense of the invisible otherness that is not you or me — but happens when “…creator and receiver both, work in alliance with the works….” When the creator and receiver are working together there arises a third thing; something in addition to you and your work; a presence in the room. Modern artists of all kinds summon the muse, a name for this unseen presence, a name given to us by the ancient Greeks. What we make is only a testimony to a greater desire to enter this mysterious province. We need, now, more than ever, the comfort of being still long enough to feel this presence. What follows are some thoughts on invoking this presence with our hands.

Wordsworth proclaims that we are co-creators; even the creation of the world moves forward, still in process. We are participants in co-creation, and what we make, the object in our hands, has an imprint of its own. The emergence of the imprint comes with the exchange between the creator and the receiver. Jorge Luis Borges described it like this:

The taste of the apple is neither in the apple itself-
the apple cannot taste itself-
nor in the mouth of the eater.
It requires a contact between them.
— Jorge Luis Borges

*The apple cannot taste itself*
Spontaneous apple drawn with mussel shell, sumi & walnut ink
© Laurie Doctor Sketchbook

Taste happens only with the exchange between the eater and the apple. Creation happens only in reciprocity. In the same way, in order for any object’s character to be felt, there’s an ongoing giving-and-receiving conversation with the painting or poem or song. This exchange creates a window for the muse. In these moments I operate not from willfulness or a plan (time for that later). Rather, co-creation involves waiting, moving slowly, or grabbing a tool or a word to do something spontaneous. In each case I reach for invisible threads.

Invisible threads reach back to the visible world. How do we perceive the visible world? We have a few words in English for sight; looking, seeing, staring, gazing, beholding. Each of these words, moving from left to right, holds an increased level of attention. By the time we get to beholding, the object of our attention emerges out of the landscape or the room, and becomes a name-in-itself announcing its place in the constellation of things. This can happen with drawing — when, after some time, I feel the visceral presence of the edge of the cholla cactus from a distance, each green ridge, every three-pronged thorn, in my pencil. The recognition of the object changes me. This can also happen with writing, when the right word or phrase proclaims itself. Beholding shows reciprocity, the dimensional quality of both seeing and being seen. Beholding surfaces as an apprehension of the true essence of a person or thing. The poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins, speaks to this idea in his treatise on inscape. Each object, each and every thing, shows an imprint of its own.

We have a word for another kind of seeing: providence. This word gets folded into a kind of Calvinistic, pre-determined view, but the root meaning of the word differs. Providence comes from the Latin, providentia, from providere; videre, ‘foresee, attend to’ and pro, ‘ before’. A maker wants to make something and it’s not yet visible. A writer wants to say something but cannot find the words. Providence translates as a kind of fluid fore-seeing, as both listening and attending to. It is not based in linear time, but an awareness that arrives sideways. When I am “in the flow” I sense Providence as feeling held, attended to. I am reassured in my trust that rests in what is not in my control, not measurable and not visible.

I have faith that what I seek, what you seek, wants to come. I have faith in the seed inside you that arrived with your birth, your particular, irreplaceable gift. Faith means not being knocked off course by failure or criticism, time or circumstance. I give my gift visible form with help from the third thing in the room, none of us create alone. This is where it is it useful for me to remember that this making-creation-receiving is not fundamentally about me. There is a we — the plural can take many forms — but a great freedom arrives in knowing that whatever I make comes with help, and is only an offering. Whatever I make forms in concert with invisible forces (the muse, God, thunder, gravity, wind, music) — and with the companionship and generosity of visible helpers and friends. The work also springs from the shoulders of our ancestors, of everyone who has come before. And as I write, I feel gratitude for you, my readers for your thoughts and ideas. It is the profound connection between the artist and the audience that has the power to animate and heal, and makes this monthly A Silver Fraction possible.

Did you make a wish for this new year? You, as well as what you create, have an imprint that belongs only to you. You have something to offer that none of the rest of us have. The world waits for your gift. Will you give it?

*Enoch called the mismatch between the solar and lunar calendar years the “over-plus of the Moon” or, more poetically “A Silver Fraction” (see Sun, Moon & Earth by Robin Heath)