Tag: writing

ahhhh! and arghhh!

Old Tools

I’ve come into a curious batch of old hand tools recently. One my mom calls the egg beater is a hand crank drill that would actually work in the kitchen. Also, a soldering kit and some tin snips. Old saws that tell stories of a different time. Some that still cut wood.

I like the familiar phrases that come from times past, too. Measure twice, cut once. Each day, a task has me whispering righty-tighty, lefty-loosey.

Song lyrics, too. Dad and I made our way through big band, swing, and all the classic crooners. Singing along, I hear all those lyrics again, differently.

Belting out Sinatra’s My Way at a friend’s karaoke night was one of the Completing releases I needed that year. Singing in public meant conquering a lifelong fear. Embodying the accountability of my self-directed path through those classic lyrics was magic.

Over dinner the other night, we talked about the curious metaphysics of cultural transmission. For example, how did the life-saving island wisdom of Bob Marley make it on cassette tape to tiny me in the 1970s desert southwest?

One love, one heart, let’s get together and feel alright

The Completing and Creating prompts often reveal what we say to ourselves. Lately, I notice how what I say comes from what I sang over the years.

Old tools (and tunes) that work better over time.

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.

Suppose it’s a Social Studio

What do I mean by social studio?

Inspiration for a social studio came directly from the experience of enduring COVID in a nonprofit arts organization. With a very small team over a matter of months, we transformed a mosaic studio into an online creative space, adding skill-building and artistic opportunity for peer groups of kids, teens, and young adults.

A studio is a special place, different from an office, classroom, or conference room. It’s home to curious tools and unusual materials. The furniture is often specific to the task. The customs and habits of studios are made and maintained by their keepers, always an odd bunch. Studio spaces are imbued with magical thinking, places where common logic branches, flips, curves, explodes, and transmutes. Not unlike a garden.

Learning is central to most studio processes, and sometimes direct instruction (like a class) does happen. In other spaces, the learning activity is more aptly described as transmission or osmosis. curriculum-based teaching methods are less useful. Hands-on coaching is more common. A place to be and a for one’s songbird soul, I suppose.

In the upcoming studio circle, one tantalizing possibility is arising. What is it like to unfold our work side by side over time? I am always studying up on Quaker meeting practice and quilting bees as I prepare.

I imagined the online studio as if anyone could drop by like a neighbor. My life was full of such occasions at the Washington Writers Retreat, and among creative clusters in DC. It was that way in the Coronado District in downtown Phoenix years before, too. Corner office conversations on the front porch or in the shed out back. Quiet time together. Hands moving, hearts changing.

Circles and cycles organize our time in the studio. Each hour comprises three 20-minute movements. First, greet each other and chat at the top of the hour. Next, focus on a topic for 20 minutes in the middle. Then, mute ourselves to work quietly together to the end of the hour. Same time-cycling in the second and third hours with bio breaks in between. I leave the screen on, mute myself, and move about my space as needed. It’s odd at first, then becomes coffee shop cozy.

How to arrive in the circle?

Set your intentions for the session and be ready with your work at hand. It’s important to arrive at the top of the hour so our cyclical timing will work, and perfectly fine to step away anytime. Though I am a writer and the topics center on creative practice, it’s always an option to bring your handiwork and simply listen.

What does drop-in really mean?

Pretend you live nearby. You know I’m doing this process during these hours. Drop in when you have the time. Stay an hour, more or less. Come back each week, more or less. You are welcome in all cases 🙂

What should I be doing in the social studio?

Good question! Self-directed inquiry among friends is the point. Here are some places to start.

The Completing & Creating prompts are here.

Try taking the questions two at a time and working in Dynamic Duos

Examine the unfolding effects of Appreciative Inquiry. More evidence of My Love Affair with the Circle.

Ask yourself what Animating Tensions are at play.

Bring something to color or draw to the table, and sink into questions 3 and 4. Soothing patterns and shapes help me go deeper into where I missed the mark and what needs mending.