Full Immersion

The word "immersion" has been knocking on the door to my consciousness at unexpected moments this week, like a persistent but uninvited guest. Of course, being human, I wonder why... and the search for meaning draws all kinds of elements into the mix.

For me, the word "immersion" conjures up the story of my English-speaking father, when we first moved back to Quebec, choosing to immerse himself in the language and culture of our new home by living with a French-speaking family in Quebec City for three weeks. Looking back now, I'm not sure why that made such an impression on me, but I think his positive experience smoothed the path to my own choice to enter the French immersion program at high school, years later, with the fervent encouragement of both my parents. 

When I think about immersion, the idea of baptism is another image that comes to mind. Full immersion baptism is symbolic of dying to the mistakes of the past in order to live a fulfilling and meaningful life. The words of one of my brother-in-law's songs—Baptism by Fire—have been running through my mind since last week, too; sometimes we find ourselves in circumstances where we must sink or swim, where we are called to pass through a refining fire in order to come out better than before.

We can become immersed in our work, in our thoughts, in our reading... and in the lives of those we love. In these times, we choose to flow with something beyond ourselves. The recent journeying of one family in our circle through the final illness and death of their loved one is a prime example. All else falls away, and eternity can be found in the depth of connection, in the holding of a hand and a story shared.

I think it's important to remember that immersion is not the same as submerging, drowning, or killing off any part of ourselves. It is about letting go of what we don't need (including misconceptions about our own abilities) and finding how to live and breathe and have our being wherever we may find ourselves, of being part of something bigger and better.

Most of us live our lives as air-breathing creatures of the earth; it can be scary to move beyond the elements we think we know and immerse ourselves in the creative realms of water and fire... to become mermaids or dragons or some other form of being that transcends the elements by becoming part of them and dissolving false boundaries.

So what does immersion mean for artists and makers? I think it means the choice to give ourselves over to something beyond our current understanding, to be willing to be "out of our element" at times; an openness to admitting that we don't know it all and to asking for help; a decision to let go of the past and to start fresh when necessary—cleared of preconceived notions and past mistakes. Immersion is about belonging, relationships and being part of something; it means letting the walls down and using the stones to build bridges. 

Cultivating Patience

We live in a hasty world, structured more and more around the goal of immediate gratification. We want what we want, we want it now, and we want it with as little work as possible on our own part. 

I recently took up knitting again. Other than a few ambitious sweater projects in my youth, I have always been a plain knitter, sticking to the simple stitches to create hats and scarves for family and friends. For some reason, my interest was recently piqued by an online class on lace knitting at  Craftsy.com...so I picked up my knitting needles, settled down in front of the video and began to learn some new techniques. After ripping back to the beginning about four or five times—sometimes after an entire week's worth of effort—I was feeling a bit discouraged and shared my feelings of inadequacy with a friend who is a master knitter. To my surprise, she told me that she OFTEN has to rip back and start over in her projects, too.

It got me thinking about perseverance and patience, and the importance of taking the time to do things right. I thought about why I had started the project in the first place. 

Once I realized how much of my effort was invested in showing off the final result, and in pressuring myself to completion, I was more able forgive myself if I made mistakes, to relax and enjoy each stitch—especially when I learned a new technique of inserting a "lifeline" once a certain portion of the project was done correctly, so that I don't have to rip everything out if I make a mistake! I even enrolled in a second lace knitting class and bought some new wool (alpaca and merino! yummy!) for the next project.

As makers, we are just as prone to impatience as the next guy...we want to see the final product blossom, we want to know how it's going to turn out. Cut to the chase, already!

But masters in all fields of endeavour know that projects of true value cannot be rushed to completion; seeds that are forced to grow too quickly are straggly and weak, unlikely to survive; trees that grow quickly are soft and not very useful for building things that last; even as firewood, they burn out quickly and don't produce a lasting heat. 

And so I say: take the time, make the time... cultivate patience with yourself and with others... the effort is worthwhile and will make itself known in the quality of the final result.

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UPDATE: And here is the final result!

Honouring Sacred Moments

Many faith traditions advocate setting aside a day—or time of day—as a sacred time; it's a practice that seems to have mostly fallen by the wayside in our secular urban society... or has been transformed into something completely different. Either way, I think it's important to find ways to recognize and honour sacred moments in our lives.

The value of intentionally engaging in a ritual of sacred time is that it allows us to connect with someone or something beyond ourselves, to set aside the hustle and bustle for a while, to consider a larger worldview and our place in it. It can be as simple as intentionally setting aside time to be present with friends or family, lending a hand in difficult or challenging circumstances...or even just preparing a meal, if it is done with loving intention.  

It's not all that obvious, but sometimes our path to renewing our spirits is through action, through doing for others (while respecting our own needs and boundaries). I often look forward to time off with anticipation of advancing some personal creative projects. This week, most of that time was spent helping various family members and cooking for some friends going through a rough time... and to me, that was sacred time, too, and infinitely precious.

As makers, we are blessed with frequent opportunities to tune into the flow of creative energy that surrounds and infuses us. For those of us who do creative work for a living, we also learn the value of seeing through the eyes of another, of gaining a deeper understanding of what the other really needs, and building something to serve that need, to solve a problem, to reach that goal. If we can bring that skill and talent to our personal relationships, we can build something even more valuable.

In a week that has been touched with the sad news of illnesses, financial struggles and deaths in our circle of family and friends, the value of each moment, of each day, becomes more apparent. And in the glad news of a small new life entering our world, we feel the energy of creation moving through our world in a powerful and hope-giving way.

All Just Too Much

Sometimes there are just too many words...(magnetic poetry in progress at the cottage last summer)

One morning last fall, I remember tripping over bag of garbage as I got out of my car on my way to work. Annoyed and frustrated, I looked up and down the street to see the huge piles of objects that people were discarding on a weekly basis. Then I thought of myself edging sideways through a few of the rooms in our own house because they are so full of stuff that there is no other way to navigate them. [NOTE: It's all good stuff, but there is just too much of it to use, find or enjoy properly.]

We still live in an age of excess, perhaps in a very long pendulum swing from the Depression-era where even the most basic necessities were hard to come by. The pendulum has been swinging back the other way for a long time in the design world, where minimalism is key... but sometimes I wonder how that minimalism is achieved. In many cases, it does not seem to be achieved by buying less or more wisely, but by buying the latest as soon as it arrives on the scene and throwing everything else out on a regular basis.

Other types of excess are more intangible; we can fill our time with too many activities and our brains with too much information to process on a daily basis.

Paradoxically, I often come out of the holiday season with two pleasant—but diametrically opposed—sensations. On one hand, I recognize abundance and blessing, whether rooted in the recent or distant past, a sense of tradition and connection, of being firmly grounded with family and friends... and on the other, I feel a fresh sense of lightness, of letting go, allowing an openness to the unknown as a New Year begins, testing my wings in new directions and making space for the unexpected, unencumbered by too many self-imposed burdens of expectation.

How does a frequent sense of burdensome obligations, of constant calls upon my time and resources over the course of the year transform into that enjoyable sense of abundance and blessing over the holidays? Why does a fearful and restless uncertainty about the future become a hopeful openness to the unknown as I head into a new year?

This year, a few rounds of bad colds and flu over the holidays forced me to slow down quite a bit more than usual, taking a break from some of my usual self-imposed expectations and spending more time just visiting quietly with family. What could be perceived as a major inconvenience actually allowed me to flow into 2015 with a calmer and more rested state of mind.

To be honest, I think "too much" is in the eye of the beholder. It's not really about how much or how little time or stuff or information we're dealing with; it's about choosing wisely, spending our resources on what matters most and being aware of our limits.

Reminding myself of that on a regular basis is as good a New Year's resolution as any. Happy New Year!

Changing the Game Plan

As much as I think that it's a good thing to establish a discipline for ourselves, I think it's also important to allow some flexibility and evolution in our creative work flow in order to keep it fresh.

I was talking to my family the other day about the irony of taking the time to blog about creativity if it eats up all of my productive free time that could be used for creating... and the suggestion that came back was that I should try converting the morning time (which is currently dedicated to writing this blog) to creative work time instead, and make some time at the end of the day to post some thoughts and updates. So starting tomorrow, that's the new game plan and we'll see how it goes...

In the meantime, I did nurture my creative spirit yesterday by attending the Common Threads Quilt Guild show in Ottawa. That was also a change of game plan because I had originally decided that the weekend was pretty busy with other things, and that—much as in the paragraph above—it would be more practical to devote whatever free time I had this weekend to working on existing projects. But when I woke up yesterday, the call of the road was still upon me... so I just jumped in the car and headed off on a little adventure.

The solitary road trip was a good decision; I delighted at the sight of the first trilliums blooming along the roadside, listened to classical music and enjoyed the sunshine and the wind in my hair.

Once I arrived in Ottawa, I wandered the aisles of the show in admiration for the fine and innovative work being done by a large and varied group of talented quilters. I browsed the vendors (with restraint) and came away with just a few treasures, some intended as gifts to others and some as gifts to myself. I also came home with lots of ideas, inspiration and new motivation, as well as the satisfaction and wellbeing that comes from feeding the spirit of creativity. 

Planning and self-discipline are important, but sometimes we have to be willing to change up the game plan and just follow that spirit to get to where we need to be next.

Living in a Dream World

As a graphic designer, pretty much all the visual work I do is for others. It tends to be done with deliberation and purpose, towards a particular destination and on a fairly strict schedule. It's a journey with a map and a timetable—although it may involve occasional spontaneous side trips—and it tends to involve a whole lot of other people on the tour. Sometimes I'm not sure whether I'm actually even a traveller, or if I am the bus driver. :)

As an artist, the work I do is more often just for myself... but I find it challenging to break out of the corporate design routine and allow myself some relaxed visual playtime, to wander along an unexplored path on my own, for no real purpose and with no fixed destination in mind, just following where inspiration beckons.

(Note to all the professional fine artists out there: I'm definitely NOT saying that design is work and art is play - they each require elements of both... just that for me, the playtime part of my design work always seems to be done with one eye on the clock and one hand on the wheel.)

It occurs to me that dreams offer a great model for play in the creative process: in dreams, we seem to be able to explore the world in a completely different way. We suspend our logic and belief systems and just go where the dream takes us.

I'm pretty tired this morning, and really not all that keen to wake up completely—or to work hard at writing anything sensible or profound—so instead, today I am simply sharing a series of images from a colourful dreamtime journey, a play-time exploration from the seed of a dream-like image, a reflection of departure from the office at the end of the day, at the end of the week, at the end of the winter. 

Rock, Paper, Scissors

There are often generational and ideological differences within a team that can make work feel more like an unpredictable succession of power struggles than a productive collaboration.

ROCK: The eldest of us grew up in times of relative hardship, lifted by our own bootstraps, trained in self-effacement, in search of elusive respect earned only by being steady as a rock, by exerting ourselves over and above the expected benchmarks by the sweat of our brow. Objects were built to last; jobs were for a lifetime; the arc was slow and steady and the road stretched out for miles. 

PAPER: The youngest of us have grown up in relative affluence and abundance, with disposable income and disposable possessions, with constant affirmations of our value and worth... ironically leading to a potentially fragile self-esteem, a sense of instability like a house of cards sheltered from a strong external gust of wind. Paradoxically, this instability can also become a strength: the ability to let go and rebuild, reshaping as often as required. This path is winding, crooked, erratic... and potentially full of possibility.

SCISSORS: The dividing line runs through the meeting ground—or lack thereof—between these generations or ideologies. The elders see the young'uns learning how to fold a paper airplane... and immediately assuming that they are ready to fly the space shuttle. The younger see the elders still chipping away at a Stone Age wheel day after day in hope of perfection... and hiding in caves from the changing weather.

I exaggerate, of course... but our perceptions are magnified by a defensive sense of our own relative worth, a focus on our own positive qualities with less emphasis on the ways in which we might be weaker; after all, it's much nicer to imagine that we're somehow more talented, more capable and more trained than the others around us.

Can we find the middle ground between confidence and humility? How do we arrive at a realistic assessment of our relative skills and abilities, accepting and valuing the relative skills and abilities of others? Can we give or accept constructive criticism, keep an open and co-operative attitude to learning, growing, sharing?

Let's turn our swords into ploughshares: instead of using our rock, paper or scissors as weapons to beat each other at the game, let's make something with them... together. 

Untangling the Big Ball of Wool

Have you ever tried to wind a skein of wool into a ball? I have recently discovered that it's not as easy as it looks. The first time I tried it, I ended up with a big, tangled mess. The second time, I used a special wooden wheel to stretch out the skein while I wound it up. It worked much better. I have yet to try the human yarn winder method (which replaces the wooden wheel with a pair of hands from a willing volunteer.)

How is this related to the creative process? Well, for me, the metaphor goes like this: a little of bit of preparation and planning—along with proper tools and more than one pair of hands—can really make the process smoother and less time-consuming... but if we do end up with a tangle, we need to apply patience and determination to tease out the strands, little by little, until we have something we can knit together into almost any kind of product, in an infinite array of patterns and styles. 

Mind you, we could avoid most of the tangling issues right from the start by limiting ourselves to the basic pre-packaged wool found at any big box craft supply store... but if we want to benefit from the unique attributes of artisanal quality resources, we better be prepared to invest the extra time and learn how to wind it all up properly.

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Fault Lines and Stress Fractures

Montreal is famous for potholes.

I am no engineer, but my understanding is that they are formed by heavy traffic on roads constructed using substandard methods and materials, and exacerbated by exposure to extreme weather conditions, including the use of salt to burn through winter ice. These cracks widen, deepen and collect dirt, water and debris the longer they are neglected; and their prevalence dictates that we drive more carefully in spring to avoid damage to our vehicles; traffic slows even further in summer as all of the main arteries to our island city undergo major repairs... every year.

It's easy to blame all the traffic jams and bent rims on someone else, but we all make choices that contribute either to the problem or to the solution. Elements like weather are beyond our control; but someone is making choices about materials and methods of construction, maintenance and repair; and as users of the system, we all have choices whether to obey warning signs about speeds, weight restrictions and detours... either way, we will live with the results every day.

How does this reflect the choices we make in our work and personal lives? Are we building things to last or taking shortcuts with the expectation that we will fix it all later? And if we have to assign blame—which, in my opinion, is a relatively useless waste of time and energy unless followed by substantive learning and change instead of just passing the buck—whose fault is it, really? 

I have a quilt design under development which symbolizes this kind of progression, with a working title of Repression / Rage / Reconciliation. I'll keep you posted on developments; it's currently only under construction in my mind... and I want to do it right the first time. :)

UPDATE: Interesting juxtaposition between my post this morning and another one in Montreal Gazette today re vanity plates...check it out here... 

Spin

We are living in the Information Age... although I am beginning to think of it as the Great Inundation. Every day, I feel the need to learn new techniques to keep my head above water, to keep myself from getting swept away. The daily flow of information has changed from a brook trickling through town, to a raging torrent sweeping through cities, towards a scenario like that in the movie Waterworld where a giant ocean covers the earth and only the strong survive.

There's nothing wrong with great bodies of water if you know how to navigate them. Any canoe or kayak enthusiast will tell you that there are techniques to riding the current, knowing which waves to follow and which to ignore. Any pleasure craft operator has to learn the rules of navigation to be licensed; any ship's pilot or captain can explain the intricacies of moving a great ship across lakes and oceans, through the deeps and over the shallows. In all of those cases, the experts "keep a weathered eye on the horizon" for signs of danger.

But we also live in the age of "spin"... of people trying to manipulate the flow or direction of information for the purpose of persuasion, despite any warning signs. That spin can turn into a great vortex, dragging down the ship (as in the movie Pirates of the Caribbean... although with less likelihood of success) or it can whip up a calm surface into colossal waves (Perfect Storm).

I don't think we need the water to be perfectly calm in order to move forward; a little challenge is a good thing, and racing the rapids can be exhilarating if we've trained ourselves. But let's not tempt fate by trying to train the water beyond reason, by forcibly directing the natural flow into an unnatural direction to suit our own purposes, despite internal and external signs of danger to ourselves and others. Wouldn't it be great if we could all learn to navigate with integrity and keep the water clean? Maybe we would actually be able to see all the way to the bottom of the ocean... to truly fathom the life that flows beneath the surface.

The Continuing Saga of the Toolbox: Apprenticeship

So you've got a toolbox loaded with a bunch of tools. Now what?

Most workplaces require some initial training in the use of appropriate tools; toolbox-centred trades traditionally rely on some form of apprenticeship program. In addition to understanding the mechanics of how each tool works, an apprentice gains experience in diagnosing problems and reviewing appropriate criteria to determine which tool to apply to each task. The apprentice/mentor relationship allows a gradual transfer of knowledge/wisdom during the actual practice of doing the work. If both parties are willing and open-minded, this approach minimizes risk and maximizes opportunity to build partnerships and share insights, whether from a fresh or experienced perspective. It also adds a personal element to a professional practice with the ability to ask and answer on the spot.

[NOTE: I am familiar with the concept of an apprenticeship, but have never formally undergone the process. I would be interested to hear other thoughts on the subject.]

Don't get me wrong, I don't think apprenticeship is the only way to learn: YouTube and other video-based forms of online training have expanded specialized learning to a new level beyond the basic search capabilities of the internet and democratized it across ages, income levels and cultures. The ability to customize learning and offer real-time interactions between teachers and students has grown in leaps and bounds, and the internet has dissolved international boundaries (my stepson initially learned a lot of his guitar techniques from an online mentor in Australia.) 

I am fascinated by online learning: I have had a subscription to lynda.com (one of the earliest online providers for professional software/design training) for several years and highly recommend it... and based on a recent and ongoing conversation in one of my LinkedIn groups, it is obvious that others agree... very strongly... very VERY strongly. Lynda.com has created an intensely loyal following through their continuing commitment to meet the needs of their users.

I frequently register for free online webinars on topics of interest related to the design business; and recently subscribed to several classes (free and paid) on Craftsy to explore new horizons and to expand existing knowledge related to my spare time creative projects. Last but not least, my team at work continues to create and deliver customized online training programs in areas such as marine safety and customer service for clients, in addition to our other design work.

I think the apprentice/mentor approach is evolving and changing in our digital culture, but will still require real people to participate, people who are willing to learn and people who are willing to share their knowledge and experience.

I hope to continue to do both... how about you?

Toolbox - Part 2

I may have been wrong yesterday.

But first, a little tangential information about my blogging process: sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep, the churning images of my semi-conscious brain get channeled through fingers on a keyboard into semi-coherent thoughts, dancing characters on a glowing screen—the only light in a dark room—not quite penetrating sleepy eyelids. Still, sometimes the ideas seem to flow more smoothly before the sun rises, before distractions creep forth from the shadows and emerge into daylight.

Although this process generally works for me, it can be a little bit like living in a dream world, where everything seems to make perfect sense...until we wake up. There are times when I stop in my tracks an hour or two after I've posted something, my brain now brimming with new or expanded thoughts, born of more sober or prolonged reflection... and wondering if my initial ideas had quite finished "cooking" before I sent them out into the world. I mean, I do think a blog is meant to be more like a stream of consciousness than a master's thesis, but still... :)

Yesterday at 5:30 in the morning, my brain was singularly focused on the tools we choose and what they say about us. I ended the post with a thought that the most important thing might be how OFTEN we use those tools... but later in the day, my thoughts stumbled back to a more obvious and telling measure of individuality and creativity: HOW do we use the tools we have at hand, and to what end?

After all, there are those who, for whatever reason, have access to all of the finest tools... and some who, for whatever reason, have access to few or none of those tools. There are some who guard their tools jealously and others who share them freely...and those who borrow from others blithely without a thought of return.

Even the opportunity to choose the tools we have in our toolbox is not universal. My own luck and abundance of choice may have temporarily blinded me yesterday morning to the realization that not everyone has access to abundance; and that interpreting something about a person by the tools in their toolbox might be limiting.

Tangling with this realization from another angle: even if everyone had identical tools and opportunities laid out before them, the results would still be different: one might build a wild and masterful invention; another would construct something familiar, safe and useful; and yet another could spend the whole time straightening out bent nails. One might revere the contents of the toolbox so highly that they doubt their own ability to use each thing properly...even to the extent that they might lock the box up and hide it away; another might select a tool carefully, use it respectfully, clean it and put it back in its place until the next time; while yet another might hammer away with reckless brilliance—or not—before carelessly losing, breaking or dropping the tool to the ground... and some unfortunate and unhappy one might grab that same tool to break, to destroy, to obliterate.

Why do we sometimes restrict our efforts to harmless—or worse, harmful—purposes? Why is it that we can sometimes do amazing things with limited tools, while sometimes we only produce limited output with the amazing tools already at our fingertips?

Today, I say that true value lies not in the tools themselves or how often we make use of them... but in HOW we use them, in what we choose to build: in determination and imagination, followed by action, leading to positive results. 

So what's in your toolbox... and what are you building?