Unplugged....sort of

Clay form ready to be molded with plaster

Plaster poured into clay forms:
1) will be a hump mold
2) plaster will be the finished sculpture
3) will be a slump-type mold for clay or wax

Clay removed and voila! A hump mold, slump mold, and relief sculpture.

This morning I had breakfast with Buddha. Well, not in the literal sense. I mean, I woke up and laid in bed for eight hours reading the book "Breakfast with Buddha" by Roland Merullo. The timing was quite poignant. See, this past week I decided to take some time to "unplug" from the world: No news, TV, phone calls, email, facebook, etc. Just time to "be". My friend Diane does this sort of homestyle retreat at least once a year for several days. I feel consistently envious. My self-induced hectic life always has a to-do list a mile long with looming deadlines. Though a lover of reading, most of what I read is research oriented to learn something specific. Pleasure reading, like a really good fiction novel, falls low on the priority list. Sad, I know.

So I decided that I would do a 36-hour retreat. I would turn off the phone, talk to no one, read/watch no news (which always gets me riled up), set aside work issues, as well as things that I feel "need" to be done. I started to map out my two precious days of "just me" time. Then it dawned on me that if I were to actually make a plan with time slots for each thing I were to do, then that would be just like any other day. I decided to do something different. I decided to have no plan. I would do, merely, what I felt like doing, when I felt like doing it.

So, today I woke at 6:00 a.m. and reached for "Breakfast with Buddha." While reading, I had breakfast. And tea. And snack. And lunch. I laid in bed the entire time with Bouli and Bello devotedly at my feet, occasionally on my chest, purring loudly to let me know that they liked this new pace and the extra attention. We didn't leave the comforts of the warm silent space (except for food and bathroom) until I finished reading the entire book.

I loved this book. Not only because it was humorous, but because I could relate to the main character. I wish I could say it was Volya Rinpoche that I related to, an enlightened sort, rather, it was Otto, the skeptic who had much to learn.

The book made me ask myself questions like "Why do I find it so hard to meditate?" or "how much money does a person need?" or "when does a person consider themselves rich - materially or spiritually?" and "how much of our lives do we control versus what is fated for us?" "What are the most important things, and how would I live my life if I had no barriers?" All questions I've asked myself before, but since I had all these hours of "unplugged" time, I thought I might as well ponder the answers.

I have tried formal meditation many times, but never felt successful. My mind does not slow down. The most peaceful I get is when I am at the potter's wheel or weaving. I think back to one experience a few years ago when I was at a weekend retreat. I had chosen to attend an afternoon session facilitated by a man that was much like the character Volya Rinpoche. As a non -meditater, I was not prepared for what I was about to partake. It turned out that in this afternoon session we were to sit in silence and not move until we felt moved by something beyond our own thoughts....by something metaphysical, or spiritual; to be like a leaf, that has fallen on the ground. It does not move until a wind comes along and moves it.

Uh oh. Not my idea of fun.

For two hours I sat silent, cross-legged Indian style, not moving one bit, focused on a single nail in the wall. I never did feel moved by spirit to jump up and dance or perform some sort of "be a palm-tree" choreography, as a few others did. (and honestly, I thought they were bullshitting to look cool) Instead, I experienced my entire body falling asleep, except for my mind. My mind was just as active as ever, but when we were to each take a turn at describing our experience, I found that the words did not come out so easy. This was not because I could not think of anything - but instead, it was because even my lips and tongue had fallen asleep. My words came out, to my embarrassing surprise, slurred and nearly inaudible. Hell, what do I mean by nearly? I'm positive that no one understood what I said. I felt like a fool.

It was indeed a strange sensation, and an interesting experience. But I would be lying if I didn't say that I was happy to have the two hour "workshop" behind me. Kudos to those who practice formal meditation. It is harder than it looks!

That memory sparked another. I can say that once in my life I felt that my mind had emptied. It was the most incredible sensation. At another weekend healing arts retreat, I participated in a firewalking workshop. I had done this a few years previous, too, and still, met the current challenge with a certain level of anxiety. Preparation consists of hours of sharing feelings with a group, building a trust, and releasing negative thoughts and anger. To enter the coals with a less than pure heart could mean burnt feet. We were encouraged to think about our intentions and what we hoped to experience or learn. Knowing that my mind always felt cluttered, I focused on one request to the powers that be....that I experience a clear mind, to know what it feels to have no worries.

Despite hours of mental preparation and having walked coals before, I still felt my nerves rise a bit. But it was a magical late summer evening. As we began our walk, flames giving way to glowing orange coals, the lake came to life with the cries of loons. I walked the coals once. Silently. Reverently. Each person took their turn, some more than once. When all were done, silence was broken and those who shared the experience felt a new kinship with one another. Coals were raked until danger of fire subsided and everyone parted to return to their cabins for sleep.

I walked back to my cabin alone, down a tree-lined, heavily rooted path. As I walked, moonlight beaming the way, I felt a lightness - and an emptiness - that is impossible to fully describe. It was like I was walking consciously and knew my way, but my mind was clear. Everything around me became more intense: the moonlight was brighter, the trees greener, taller, the sounds of crickets louder. I could see, feel, hear, sense everything more intensely. I felt no thoughts in my mind except an awareness that I felt empty, peaceful, but incredibly sensitive to the life around me. It was an amazing feeling, floating above ground, like the huge burden of everyday mental ping pong had been lifted. I'll always remember that feeling because of its rareness.

After reading this morning's book, and recalling such intense experiences these two times in my life, I feel an urge to try to recapture these two sensations - one of my mind being alert and detached from my body, and the other sensation of sensing all fully with a mind that is completely cleared. And what of the two could be bridged somehow - would that be the total mind/body experience to the fullest extent?

I am now a mere thirteen hours into my thirty-six hours of unplugged retreat, and well, I kinda feel done with the silence for now. I know it sounds strange, but this taking it slow and easy kinda day has worn me out! After reading, I spent three hours in the cave sculpting and listening to music. I'm kinda missing talking to my husband. The cats look at me when I talk to them, but there is no reciprocation other than a blink or a yawn or a stretch for affection. I have (obviously) given in to the computer and broken my vow of temporary symbolic silence by writing this long blog which will then be posted and the link emailed. Other than that little break in the "plan" to have no plan and be unplugged, all feels good. It's supper time and I look forward to waking tomorrow to do...???? It's the great unknown. I will see what moves me.....like that leaf waiting for the wind to blow.

Life Speeding Along

Shanna warping the Earth Loom in saturday's gusty downeast wind, preparing to weave in honor of Mabon with plants harvested from our land.

Last night I dreamt of a white horse running through a field. Every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of it's mane which looked like a Pegasus wing. The horse eventually came to me and I was able to pat it.

When I dream of animals, I refer to the book "Animal Speak" by Ted Andrews, to gain some insight into the dream's meaning. The horse represents freedom and journey, and judging by how fast this horse was running, I sense that some parts of my life might be moving very fast for me, faster than I might normally expect.

It is an odd juxtaposition, to on one level sense this speed, but on another level there are moments that feel so still and slow.

This past summer had me busy between building the new studio and organizing for Lubec Arts Alive. From these projects (which are both still in progress though transitioning toward an "end") I went back to my teaching job at school. At the same time, I have new projects forming in my mind and ideas about moving the arts forward for both our community and in my own personal studio and work as an artist. My mind never seems to rest.

Yet, in this one time-warp type moment yesterday, all things slowed to a perfect moment of stillness.

I had hustled around the house all morning in preparation for the Two Countries One Bay Artist Studio Tour. The final preparation was to warp the Earth Loom so that visitors could join me in weaving. At first, I was a bit discouraged. The air felt bitterly cold, and the wind was whipping wild. My hands were approaching numb and I still had many strings to measure, cut, and tie.

In this moment, listening to the rustle of tree limbs sway, leaves twirling and falling to the ground, I was in a meditative space with the rhythm of repetitive cutting and tying. I looked out over the field and toward the water, then the sky, watching the trees sway and grey clouds move quickly by with peeks of blue coming through. Instead of being the one always moving fast, I felt still and centered while nature moved fiercely around me.

Then, like a slow-motion movie scene, an osprey flew toward me, swooping down to perhaps only thirty feet from ground, then back up and over the barn, between an opening of trees, and off over the field.

It was a magical moment.

A freelance writer from a Canadian arts magazine interviewed me on Friday (I was one of many artists interviewed) and she asked a question about how the land inspires my work. Words can't fully express an entire philosophy and reverence for nature that I feel. But if I could have relayed to her that moment with the osprey, if she could have stepped inside my soul and felt that perfectly still yet whirling moment, I think she would have understood.

Arts Growing in Passamaquoddy Region

Chris weaving at our Earth Loom

I was speaking with Jude Valentine the other day about a project that she has been working on. Jude is an artist who is also the editor of a weekly online arts publication called “Culture Pass”, a project of the Tides Institute and Museum of Art. I mentioned to Jude how it was such a struggle for me, as an artist, to move to Lubec, a remote area, and not be fully immersed in the arts. Lubec, at the time, felt like a sleepy little town with very few cultural opportunities. I suppose, to someone living in New York, L.A., or even Portland, Maine, that would still feel the case today. And relatively speaking, it is.

However, the past maybe three or four years, I have felt as though there is a real renaissance taking place in our area. Admittedly, it has taken me time to get to know the people, the culture, and the ins and outs of how people entertain themselves. But it really does feel like there is a shift occurring; A shift that is bringing the artists and local talents into the spotlight.

I don’t think the artists just showed up overnight. I attribute my new awareness to Jude’s work with “Culture Pass.” A few years ago, a survey was distributed in the towns around Passamaquoddy Bay, including both sides of the U.S. and Canadian Border. Artists began to register themselves and a list grew. I bet it was a shock for Jude at first to see just how many artists were eager to let themselves be known. Soon a database was created and later a weekly listserve that subscribers receive every Sunday. Thanks to this listserve, we now see the richness of this area, the traditional folks arts of the natives who have lived here thousands of years and the merging of the newer blood and a more modern approach to art. There are music and art festivals, theatrical performances, contradances, art workshops, lectures, concerts, and gallery openings. And it isn’t a rare thing. These types of events are occurring every week, all year long, throughout our area.

I urge folks who live in this area or who are thinking of visiting or moving here, to subscribe to the Culture Pass listserve. It’s easy. Follow the link and click on “subscribe.” You’ll be amazed at the offerings. If you don’t want to subscribe, but are curious, you can go to the site and just browse, either artists, events, or organizations.

Culture Pass

I thought I might just toss out a sample list of the things I know are coming up in August or early September:

A Listing of Upcoming Arts Events on Culture Pass
A comprehensive list of upcoming events in the arts.

Lubec Arts Alive
A Downeast Community Art Event, August 17-22
This is my pet-project this summer. A bunch of super neat artists form all over Maine will come to Lubec for a week as Artists-in-residence, and work with local community to create murals, sculptures, installations, and a portrait project. Be sure to check out my other blog specifically for that event.

Summer Keys Concerts and Summer Brushes Art Workshops
Classical Concerts every Wednesday night in the summer at the Congregational Church in Lubec, renown adult music camp, and art workshops

Jazz Week Lubec
Greg Abate performances in early August to benefit the Lubec Memorial Library. This is wild, fun, upbeat, toe-tapping music!

Tides Institute Museum
Local art and history museum/collection located in Eastport, Maine

Parrish Map Project
Sue Clifford of Common ground (England) brings the community map program to our area. Lubec: Sunday, Aug. 9, 2:00 pm at Lubec Memorial Library

Two Countries One Bay Artist Studio Tour
A weekend open-studio tour (in September) of Passamaquoddy Bay area artists, including those living in New Brunswick, Canada (Deer Island, Campobello Island, St. Stephen, St. Andrews), and Maine (Calais, Eastport, Pembroke, Edmunds, Robbinston, Whiting, Trescott, Eastport, and Lubec). Yep, I (Cobscook Pottery) am part of the tour! This awesome art studio tour is the result of the cooperative partnership of The Tides Institute and Museum of Art, Culture Pass, Bertha Day Fine Art Gallery and Michael Chesley Johnson.

Fundy Art
A guide to artists in the Bay of Fundy area.

Cobscook Community Learning Center
An organization that offers workshops in the arts and music (including traditional folk arts/music) and environmental education experiences.

Eastport Arts Center
Celebrates the local arts with theater, music, and arts workshops. I have loved watching this organization grow over the last few years.

These are just a few of what I consider key events that I am either attending or participating in. Check out Culture Pass to see a more comprehensive listing. Beyond this, there are numerous galleries, art openings, workshops, outdoor recreational opportunities, the best and most beautiful hiking trails, and incredible hospitality at the local inns. The wildlife is stunning: eagles, whales, moose and bear. All these arts in a true downeast locale, where the forests are unfettered, no traffic lights (at least for 50 miles from Lubec!), and each cultural finding is a treasure to be savored. Rugged coastline, foggy bays, lighthouses, and the true Maine accent that Stephen King movies have yet to get right!

Centered

This morning I feel like spring is finally on its way. I walked outside at 7:00 a.m. to turn the heat on in the barn studio, and as I stepped out into the back yard, I heard the loud drumming of a pileated woodpecker. The deep, rhythmic, sometimes offbeat, knocking is distinct. I have only heard it once before, three summers ago, just moments before the bird swooped over me and landed on a dead branch of the walnut tree. She was followed seconds later by her mate. It was an amazing moment and one I won't ever forget. This morning, she has returned.

Animals have a way of showing up for me at times when I am seeking guidance. I have a multitude of happenings in my life right now - things on the verge of coming into being, but nothing solid. The prospect of being on a new path excites me, but at the same time, new directions can be scary. Having choice is a good thing, but working it out in my mind how to make the best choice, to try to foresee all possible outcomes, is the tough part.

The pileated woodpecker and the eagle have come to me in profoundly moving ways. Three summers ago both showed up in a way that I had to take notice. At that time, major life changes occurred (or opportunities) that helped move me along my path in a creative and rewarding direction. Now, the two birds have returned and I feel that I need to not take their presence in my life for granted. I need to be open and receptive and hear their message.

Whether it is a dream image or a real-life experience with animals, I like to refer to a book called Animal Speak: The Spiritual and Magical Powers of Creatures Great and Small. This morning I read (or re-read) the passages for both the eagle and the woodpecker. The words were completely relevant to what has been rolling around in my noggin lately. Just yesterday, I began to doubt a decision that I recently made, but this morning, I feel clarity once again. I needed to revisit my personal philosophies, and ask myself what is the best way for me to reach my goals and dreams.

I feel centered now.

Partly because of this morning's drumming visitor, but also because I am back in the studio after a five month hiatus.

And now, back to the barn studio I go.....