Last week I was at the Craigberoch Decelerator on the Isle of Bute. One of the sessions was held in a gorgeous community space by a church, a room bathed in light with an elevated position and windows on three sides looking out to the bay beyond. The purpose of the session was to access our inner creativity through art, so there were tables with all kinds of paint, charcoal, crayons and more for us to access.
I knew this session was coming up so had woken up in the morning gently musing on it. I’ve been to many retreats and other group sessions where I’ve had the opportunity to paint or draw, yet it has never called to me as a form of expression. I do love to take photographs, but beyond that, my art is in my words. I then calmly and gently talked to the facilitator about this and noted that I would write while others painted. They challenged me that I was resisting, to which I noted that I had thought this through, was fully participating, and had long since worked through any resistance I had to painting or drawing. I even have a phrase for this that popped into my head: “What possibilities may lie beyond resistance ?”.
What possibilities indeed? Well, for me this allowed me to enter an amazing “flow” state and write around a thousand words in a short space of time.
I began, and so as not to feel that my different form of expression might disturb others, by taking a chair, opening the door to the fire escape, then sitting on that makeshift balcony. I opened my notebook and words almost immediately started to flow from me. I wrote three pieces, called “How to stop time?”, “How to make time last forever?”. and then, finally, the piece I share today:
How to be with time?
I write the words “How to be with time?”, and then I hear the sound of bagpipes. I pause.
A funeral is taking place close by at the church.
I stop writing and allow my gaze to drift up to the rowan tree blowing in the breeze, then to the yacht sailing on the bay beyond.
As I listen, I sense the congregation at the funeral, in that moment, giving thanks for the life of an 86-year-old man, feeling in them, as they hear the bagpipes lament, a sense of peace and calm gratitude.
I sat, present, being with that space and that time, and then I wrote this passage.
As I type these words out of my notebook right now, I can still recall every moment, every sensation, every sight, every smell, and even the breeze that was blowing on my face and body.
Each of the three pieces I wrote in such flow evolved from one to the next, so I now realise that the third passage not only showed me how to be with time but also how to make time last forever and how to stop time.
In closing, Seth Godin speaks of all of our work as art, as in this, one of his daily blogs:
A useful definition of art
Art is a human activity. It is the creation of something new, something that might not work, something that causes a viewer to be influenced.Art uses context and culture to send a message. Instead of only a contribution of beauty or craft, art adds intent. The artist works to create something generous, something that will change us.
Art isn’t painting or canvas or prettiness. Art is work that matters.
It’s entirely possible that you’re an artist.
Everyone can be, if we choose.
Oh, and the photo above is of the two “Calmac” ferries that go back and forth from Bute to the mainland on the 35-minute journey. They are normally at opposite ends of the journey as one comes in or leave the port, so this was a rare moment when one ferry was on time and the other running around 25 minutes late, a chance to capture them both on a gorgeous sunny day, even with a small yacht in the foreground. This was on a lazy Friday afternoon, just before I left my “decelerated” space for the mainland and the trip back to London.