I just was backpacking with my youngest nineteen-year-old daughter, Hannah, high in the Sierra Mountains. We spent most of our days walking through high alpine forests, massive expanses of granite punctuated by startled deer and once, even a large, scurrying prairie dog, although we couldn’t be completely sure.
Every day we hiked to a new remote mountain lake, carrying all our food, shelter and kitchen stuff on our backs. In contrast to these effortful mornings, we would spend, upon arrival, pretty much the rest of our day sitting upon large, quiet boulders that bordered these serene and impossibly blue lakes.
To have multiple hours to just sit and watch the shadow patterns of the trees upon a lake change as each hot day drew to a close was such a nice break from my normal routine of driving in traffic or just trying to be always as productive as possible.
There just was simply nothing that needed to be done.
The conversation meandered for hours, naturally around all things contained in the relatively new life of a 19-year-old daughter and those of her father. The subject of writing in college came up which lead to art making in general. We spoke about how, even though you can’t see what you might do in your life, what will inspire you, move you, that something always appears.
Something will break the stillness, the quietness of your day, your life, and awaken you.
I spoke about this blog and how I never know from week to week what I am going to write about. However, something always comes along that holds a glint of inspiration. Something in the week will inevitably sparkle.
[Tweet ““I just love to be around things that remind me of my smallness.” – Hannah wilton”]
It is like this with making Art too. Something just always happens that can turn an afternoon of making art from effortful to extraordinary.
I was considering this idea, staring out at this very still, calm landscape not quite sure how to say what I was feeling when Hannah perfectly summed up the loose ends of my thoughts by so eloquently saying, “I just love to be around things that remind me of my smallness.”
I think this is really at the heart of it. We probably are much, much, smaller than our life. Maybe we can’t really control all that we hope we can. And maybe this is a good thing. Maybe our art, our life, is actually going to work out anyway. Maybe the enormity of our life and all that swirls around us, whether it is what we are trying to make in our art, or for our dinner or even what we might have to do that seems hard and scary doesn’t have to be.
Maybe we are being carefully held, swaddled and surrounded by a huge life that only will reveal to us just what we need, just when we are ready. You merely have to wait and be paying attention, to see. There is no small measure of trust involved. Faith really.
I don’t always know this. Mostly I am too busy to remember. But when I do I feel calmer and more hopeful.
The hours passed that afternoon in unbroken stillness until suddenly, a fish jumped right before us, breaking the glassy stillness of the lake. It startled both of us. My heart skipped a beat and I knew without even looking at my daughter that she was smiling too.
In gratitude, Nicholas
22 Comments
Hi! I’m
Nicholas Wilton
the founder of Art2Life.
With over 20 years experience as a working artist and educator, I’ve developed a systematic approach that brings authenticity, spontaneity and joy back into the creative process.
Join me and artists from all over the world on our Art2Life Instagram account or learn more here about Art2Life.
I really enjoy reading your posts–you are a good writer and express yourself beautifully.
A life spent in balanced reflection and contemplation is so necessary, and such a luxurious act in the technology-driven, frenetic lifestyles that most people live. I would have it no other way, and feel gratitude that I not only can do this, but choose to.
You are so right about it being luxurious…feels like a gift for sure–thanks for your interest in my words!
Yes, choose is the operative word…we so often forget we have a choice! thanks…
I really enjoy reading your posts–you are a good writer and express yourself beautifully.
A life spent in balanced reflection and contemplation is so necessary, and such a luxurious act in the technology-driven, frenetic lifestyles that most people live. I would have it no other way, and feel gratitude that I not only can do this, but choose to.
You are so right about it being luxurious…feels like a gift for sure–thanks for your interest in my words!
Yes, choose is the operative word…we so often forget we have a choice! thanks…
What a beautiful piece/peace
I cannot hike physically, but I can in my mind
And with my daughters Hannah and Molly and with our newest grand baby Hattie? Who’s birth happens in a couple of weeks
They are all artists and lovers of rivers and mountains and the poetry of life. Again what soulful verse
Thank you
What a beautiful piece/peace
I cannot hike physically, but I can in my mind
And with my daughters Hannah and Molly and with our newest grand baby Hattie? Who’s birth happens in a couple of weeks
They are all artists and lovers of rivers and mountains and the poetry of life. Again what soulful verse
Thank you
Thank you Nick! I just woke and read your post, it was just the reminder that I needed. Thank Hannah for me. I lost a friend to cancer yesterday. He lived so so so large. Fifty years young. He lived with no fear. His energy and humor were a gift to us all.
I am headed to the Henry’s fork withy father and two brothers to fish the Henry’s fork. I will be on that beautiful river for two days. I will take this intention of stillness with me. Take in the beauty, take nothing “to do” with me and just be, be grateful.
Peace and love to you.
Sometimes that happens to me too. I am happy that this piece was a reminder and helpful especially at this difficult time. I will thank Hannah–super fortunate to be a parent of two amazing strong thoughtful women. Enjoy the river for me!
Thank you Nick! I just woke and read your post, it was just the reminder that I needed. Thank Hannah for me. I lost a friend to cancer yesterday. He lived so so so large. Fifty years young. He lived with no fear. His energy and humor were a gift to us all.
I am headed to the Henry’s fork withy father and two brothers to fish the Henry’s fork. I will be on that beautiful river for two days. I will take this intention of stillness with me. Take in the beauty, take nothing “to do” with me and just be, be grateful.
Peace and love to you.
Sometimes that happens to me too. I am happy that this piece was a reminder and helpful especially at this difficult time. I will thank Hannah–super fortunate to be a parent of two amazing strong thoughtful women. Enjoy the river for me!
Always good to be reminded to keep the faith !
Oh yeah! Hope you are doing great and your work!
Always good to be reminded to keep the faith !
Oh yeah! Hope you are doing great and your work!
Thank you for sharing about this beautiful experience with your daughter, your thoughts about it, & art and life!
thanks Judy.
Thank you for sharing about this beautiful experience with your daughter, your thoughts about it, & art and life!
thanks Judy.
Hi Nicholas,
I enjoy reading your posts about the art life. This one connected with me because I am spending the Labor Day weekend in the colorful world of Utah’s Canyonlands. Last night I drove to Dead Horse Point and became distracted by another trail (totally worth it) and didn’t arrive at my original destination until after dark. There was a lightning storm ripping through the clouds over the distant mountains but surprisingly the sky above me was clear with a billion or more stars. I recognized the Milky Way, the big dipper, the North star, Orion and Cassiopeia. And I felt very small and time stood still for a moment. I wish I could capture that feeling in my art work. Today I drove into Canyonlands National Park and felt a communal sense of awe as I witnessed the creative hand of God with many other spectators speaking different languages. Water and ice carved these astounding canyons into photo ops for thousands. I am particularly interested in the textures I’ve captured with my camera. Can you suggest how I might use these overused images in a new way? All you have to do is Google Canyonlands to see the same digital images.
Unfortunately, I’m sitting at the picnic table outside of my cabin while I’m writing this and I’m being eaten alive by very small mosquitoes. I am big and they are small but have the power to make me move inside. As something so small in this Universe created by the all powerful God I am reminded that I must remain determined in order to find ways to survive.
Keep writing.
Liz Matthews
Hi Nicholas,
I enjoy reading your posts about the art life. This one connected with me because I am spending the Labor Day weekend in the colorful world of Utah’s Canyonlands. Last night I drove to Dead Horse Point and became distracted by another trail (totally worth it) and didn’t arrive at my original destination until after dark. There was a lightning storm ripping through the clouds over the distant mountains but surprisingly the sky above me was clear with a billion or more stars. I recognized the Milky Way, the big dipper, the North star, Orion and Cassiopeia. And I felt very small and time stood still for a moment. I wish I could capture that feeling in my art work. Today I drove into Canyonlands National Park and felt a communal sense of awe as I witnessed the creative hand of God with many other spectators speaking different languages. Water and ice carved these astounding canyons into photo ops for thousands. I am particularly interested in the textures I’ve captured with my camera. Can you suggest how I might use these overused images in a new way? All you have to do is Google Canyonlands to see the same digital images.
Unfortunately, I’m sitting at the picnic table outside of my cabin while I’m writing this and I’m being eaten alive by very small mosquitoes. I am big and they are small but have the power to make me move inside. As something so small in this Universe created by the all powerful God I am reminded that I must remain determined in order to find ways to survive.
Keep writing.
Liz Matthews