Wordless Wandering

Here I have for you the ultimate wet blanket, an essay on the blissful states of wordlessness. It will be brief.

I’m on a park bench. Ducks gliding across the pond. Warm sun and crisp fall air around. Ambient activities abound. Dog walkers block by block, and a distant dump truck. Life’s surround sound. Right now, enough for me to get quiet.

Studio circles have been rich in conversation so far. What I thought was a big spend – three whole hours – quickly melts away in the company of cultural theorists, public artists, a mad neuroscientist, and my mom.

The social exchange has inspired a deeper insight in me, too, about the joys of being alone in the studio or working wordlessly side-by-side.

Something sacred holds that silence.

Hush. Walls do talk, just like an old oak if you linger long enough. A quiet key unlocks our family stories. Rescued relics that need tending.

The Completing and Creating prompts summoned up some mental mayhem in me lately. They do that. This week, my hands hold the muscle memories to make peace with myself. The postcards are my material.

A special shout out to those who are working along at pace. The free slides are frequently downloaded. Not entirely wordless, but a hopeful whisper. Not one of us is in this alone.