Notes to Myself
Brush lettering and Plantain Lily seed pods | © Laurie Doctor Sketchbook
Your real duty is to go away from the community to find your bliss. — Joseph Campbell
What part of myself, I wonder, am I trying to find, to save? The need to retreat from media, to regain something I once knew, has the urgency of survival. On the second day of my retreat here at Saint Meinrad Archabbey, stillness begins to win over the part that wants to keep up with people and news. That wants the action of entertainment. It is so easy for me to forget that stillness is a way of knowing, of apprehending presence, of inhabiting the room of belonging. Time spreads out for paper, pens, paint, books and walking. The refreshment of beech trees rattling their leaves in the winter woods. Reading and writing. Sorting my tools. Gazing out the window.
There is something so restorative about the physicality of a place and the reckoning that comes with being fully embodied and uninterrupted. I remember how the saving mystery breaks through at odd and unforeseeable moments. There are many thoughts on the subject of places having memory, of places remembering what people forget. But the first thing I noticed on my arrival was something I have never seen here before: about 100 black vultures and a few dozen crows circling the sky above where I am staying. The black vultures have only recently entered this area in such great numbers, and are more aggressive than the native turkey vultures. They have an ominous reputation that calls to mind the birds of Mordor. The second thing I noticed was the green sprouts of crocus already up in the woods. The dark and the light, the evil and the good, both ever present.
© Laurie Doctor Sketchbook
On the fourth day I am confounded by what I know and have forgotten, or discovered by accident. For example, I began in the 1980’s using a white tool on white paper, which became an essential ingredient in my teaching and remains so today. It took me a long time to realize that this discovery comes from a meditative, experimental approach to my work. I did not go to art school, and had never heard of Mark Tobey or his “white writing” paintings. I discovered him by accident too, wandering into a gallery on my travels, and being stopped and smitten by his work. Seeing that I share a mystic impulse to painting with Mark Tobey, this gives me confirmation and direction; another bridge between calligraphy and painting. We need to be able to follow the footsteps of those we admire. Follow, and yet the path I take, the one you take; each one is distinct and untrodden. The “following” is guided by the single note that resonates inside you.
Where is the place that recognizes you? Whether you live alone or with others, creating a space for uninterrupted solitude is an intentional, ritual act. How do you find your “room of belonging”? I’d love to hear from you.
Sign up for my online class beginning Mar 19 (all 3 sessions will be recorded): here.