A Workshop: Deepening Your Art Through Daily Practice

Cover of my latest handmade journal/sketchbook.

Because I sometimes like to entertain you with my art adventures if they are in any way connected with books or writing, I am going to tell you about a two-day workshop I attended last weekend led by an artist who combines calligraphy, watercolor, poetry, journaling, and meditation.

I have taken workshops with Laurie Doctor before - this was my fourth - and every time I learn more not only about creating but also about myself. (You can read about the first one I took here.)

Laurie is an artist and calligrapher and teaches in Europe and the U.S. I am so lucky because she lives in Louisville and I don't have to travel but about five miles to attend her classes. This workshop was called "Deepening Your Art Through Daily Practice". 

We begin (as always) with a little stretching to limber us up for the work ahead. (I call it waking the Muse.) Laurie talks to us about the importance of showing up each day to create -- whether that be at the craft table or easel, pottery wheel or desk. Then she recites a poem. Actually, she does it so well it is more of a performance. This time the poem was On Angels by Czeslaw Milosz. 

Then we do a bit of writing, writing, writing. The rule is that you must keep your hand moving and don't lift the pen from the paper (that includes crossing t's, dotting i's, and moving back to the left side of the paper to start a new line). Sometimes this is done with a white china marker. You can't really see the words so you don't get too attached to them. We do this on a large sheet of watercolor paper - choosing anywhere at all to write. It is not going to matter. This exercise takes maybe 10 minutes. 

This first part of the morning sets the stage for what is to follow.

For this workshop, the rest of the exercises were based on the alphabet she created for us. The letters were very intuitive and not at all difficult to get the hang of. First we practiced the letter forms with pencil. Then we did a bit of blind writing - eyes closed, no peeking - forming the letters as best we could. Next came out the calligraphy pen and nib with watercolors to use as ink. I chose quinacridone violet, quinacridone gold, and turquoise for my palette.

Inside pages of my journal. 
You can see the color palette I used at the right.

Taking the same alphabet and our calligraphy pens, we began to copy the poem that we had each brought with us. Mine was When I Met My Muse by William Stafford. 

There is no talking. There is soft music but if it in any way aggravates anyone, she will turn it off. In this way, we worked on our own for quite a while.  

Later, she demonstrated a few more techniques. Perhaps writing with a very wide nib or walnut ink or even a shell filled with watercolor ink. Then we practiced any or all of these different ways to play with the letters but always using words from our poem - not just making marks on the paper. After a while, you realize the poem has becomes a part of you.

A sample of the alphabet we used.

By the end of the two days, we have torn and folded that big sheet of paper into signatures and sewn them into a journal to take home and use to continue our practice. It is so cool to see the random ways that the work done on a large sheet of paper with no direction or strategizing shows up in the book. 

I like that the class is so meditative. There is no chattering, it is definitely a No Cell Phone Zone (she is adamant about that!), the class is small, and there is not a headlong rush to move from one technique to another. I get time to deeply feel what I am doing and fall into the dream world of creating. 

Best. Gift. Ever.

Closeup of another page. The black letters were written on
a strip of tracing paper and are the poem that I used. I appear to have photographed the backside
of the paper. Oh, well. You get the idea.

Here's the poem:

When I Met My Muse

I glanced at her and took my glasses

off -- they were still singing. They buzzed

like a locust on the coffee table and then

ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the 

sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and

knew that nails up there took a new grip

on whatever they touched. "I am your own

way of looking at things," she said. "When

you allow me to live with you, every

glance at the world around you will be 

a sort of salvation." And I took her hand.

--William Stafford

By the Book with Belle

This morning I read a New York Times interview with one of my favorite authors Bill Bryson. The Q&A was in the newspaper's By The Book feature (here). As you might imagine the interviewees answer questions about what they are reading, what authors have influenced them, and other bookish inquiries. Past authors have included Sue Grafton, Simon Winchester, and David McCullough plus many many more. (Where have I been that I am just now discovering this column?)

Anyway, as I have no book to report on at this minute, I thought I would interview myself based on the Bryson interview. (I hope that I am not breaking any copyright laws by doing so!)

What books are currently on your nightstand?
I am reading on my Kindle Losing Ground by Catherine Aird and I have a paperback edition of The Egg and I by Betty MacDonald that is gathering dust as it has been there for so long. 

What's the last great book you read?
Carolina Writers at Home is tremendous. A collection of essays by many authors I was not familiar with. And it has these wonderful brooding, sepia-toned photographs.

Which writers, poets, journalists working today do you admire most?
Alexander McCall Smith, Bill Bryson, Mary Oliver, Billy Collins,
Anne Fadiman, Alain de Botton, Michael Dirda, Annie Dillard.

Who are your favorite travel writers and what is your favorite travel book?
Bill Bryson certainly comes to mind. I am sure I would get along with Patrick Leigh Fermor although I have yet to get my hands on any of his books. 

Which genres do you especially enjoy reading?
Mystery, vintage children's books (because my own childhood reading was somehow neglected), the humor of Dave Barry and James Thurber. Books about books.

Which do you avoid?
Anything too violent, romance novels, science fiction, pretentious literary fiction.

What was the last book that made you cry?
The Woman Who Walked in Sunshine by Alexander McCall Smith. Not that it was sad, but his characters are so touching.

The last book that made you laugh?
Drop Dead Healthy by A.J. Jacobs. He always makes me laugh.

The last book that made you furious?
Everyone is Entitled to My Opinion by David Brinkley. A lesson in how American political shenanigans never change.

Favorite poems?
"Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver. "Forgetfulness" by Billy Collins. Together these two poems could save the world.

Your favorite movie adaption of a book?
To Kill a Mockingbird. I am also very fond of the television productions of Lark Rise to Candleford and Cranford.

Who is your favorite fictional heroine or hero?
I must say that I adore Mma Precious Ramostwe and I hope that somewhere in the world there lives a woman just like her. And of course Nancy Drew set me off to a lifetime of reading mysteries. And I mustn't leave out brave Scout Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird.

Your favorite anti-hero or villian?
Well, I wouldn't call him a favorite, but I sure wouldn't want to meet Oliver Twist's bully Bill Sikes in a dark alley.

What kind of reader were you as a child? 
I was slow to enter the world of books. My second grade teacher sent home a note to my parents that I needed to read more for enjoyment. She would be so proud now!

What childhood books or authors stick with you most? 
The Nancy Drew mysteries and the tales of Mary Stewart and Daphne duMaurier. Also, Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink. As an adult I discovered Ms. Brink's The Pink Motel and was swept away by it.

If you had to name one book that made you what you are today, what would it be?
Travels With Charley by John Steinbeck. I read it when I was a junior in high school and it made me want to become a writer. And I did.

What author, living or dead, would you most like to meet?
I can't pick just one: E.B. White for his words, Agatha Christie for her plots, and P.G. Wodehouse for his characters.

What was the last book you put down without finishing?
Skippy Dies by Paul Murray and Little Face by Sophie Hannah. The titles both showed up recently on a list of mysteries to read but I couldn't get into either one. 

Of the books you've written, which is your favorite?
Well, unlike Mr. Bryson, I haven't written any books but as for my over 800 blog posts I would have to choose the ones about my literary adventures (The Grand Southern Literary Tours, One and Two) and my accounts of meeting various authors. 

Whom would you like to write your life story?
Bill Bryson. He would be able to take the jumble of my journals and turn them into a humorous tale.

Mary Oliver, Percy, and Books

Mary Oliver and her dog Percy
Photo source: The Boston Globe

April is National Poetry Month and I would be remiss in not mentioning it and posting at least one poem. I opened a Mary Oliver book of poetry at random and will share this one with you -- and it just happens to be about books!

Percy and Books

Percy does not like it when I read a book.

He puts his face over the top of it and moans.

He rolls his eyes, sometimes he sneezes.

The sun is up, he says, and the wind is down.

The tide is out and the neighbor's dogs are playing.

But Percy, I say. Ideas! The elegance of language!

The insights, the funniness, the beautiful stories

that rise and fall and turn into strength, or courage.

Books? says Percy. I ate one once, and it was enough.

Let's go.

                                ---Mary Oliver

                                                    From Red Bird (2008)

National Poetry Month

I have been remiss in acknowledging April as National Poetry Month. I may have only a handful of poetry books on my shelves, but that doesn't mean I scoff at the art.

I started a writer's group sometime back around 1993. We were called Noms des Plumes. We all wrote poetry. Some wrote better than others and we all listened intently and graciously to each other. For me, at a time I was trying to jump start a writing life, the actual process of writing and then reading that writing aloud was one of the greatest boons to my creative life. It helped me to develop confidence in my talent and myself. As a group we participated in city-wide poetry readings and continued meeting for about two years. We were small in number, well behaved, and sincere in our hearts.

Of course I still have the notebooks full of my poems. It was an emotional time for me and writing all that angst and reading it aloud, with a spot of humor, was better than therapy. Bleeding heart poetry, I call it.

My two favorite poets are Billy Collins (Poet Laureate 2001-2003) and Mary Oliver. I was fortunate to hear Collins speak and read at a local university. He was funny, astute, and charming. I have not met Oliver and I think I read recently that she is ill and has cancelled any public appearances. I snatched up three of her books at the Border's blow-out sale.

I have already used one of her poems (here), so I will leave you with Mr. Collins:

Introduction To Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Billy Collins

The beautiful earth

I woke up this morning thinking about the poet Mary Oliver. I knew just the poem of hers I wanted to find. I looked in a couple of her books on my shelves but to no avail. However, and you must love the internet, I found it and herewith I present it for your enjoyment:

What Was Once the Largest Shopping Center in
Northern Ohio Was Built Where There Had Been
a Pond I Used to Visit Every Summer Afternoon

Loving the earth, seeing what has been done to it,

I grow sharp, I grow cold.

Where will the trilliums go, and the coltsfoot?

Where will the pond lilies go to continue living

their simple, penniless lives, lifting

their faces of gold?

Impossible to believe we need so much

as the world wants us to buy.

I have more clothes, lamps, dishes, paper clips

than I could possibly use before I die.

Oh, I would like to live in an empty house,

with vines for walls, and a carpet of grass.

No planks, no plastic, no fiberglass

.

And I suppose I will.

Old and cold I will lie apart

from all this buying and selling, with only

the beautiful earth in my heart.

--Mary Oliver
2004