Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,
between “green thread”
and “broccoli,” you find
that you have penciled “sunlight.”
From The Word by Tony Hoagland
I remember the beginning and the end. But everything in between is blurry and surreal.
I remember getting a rare view of the ceiling as I was wheeled into surgery. I remember the nurse making polite conversation. I remember thinking I was suffocating when they placed the mask over my nose and mouth.
And then I remember hearing everyone talking about their weekend and the familiar ‘ding’ of the elevator, a moment of weightlessness.
In between, there are four hours unaccounted for, except a faint memory of time travel. Liminal, dreamy and frightening, all at once.
For everyone else in the room, it was another day at the office, another gallbladder in the dumpster.
For me, it was stepping through the threshold from one reality to another, from the known to the unknown.
In my recovery, I became acutely aware of ordinary liminal moments - the parts where I’m not sure what I’m doing:
Between making the list and carrying the groceries in from the car.
Between opening the sketchbook and cleaning the brushes.
Between the last day of one job and the first day of another.
Between loneliness and feeling entirely supported by a loyal friend.
It’s late spring in Minnesota and the air is full of birdsong and breezes, bringing consciousness to the luscious and fleeting time between winter and summer – a wonderland of blooming and petrichor (may it last as long as possible).
And you know by now, how much I LOVE flowers. lol So I’m feeling quite inspired in the studio.
I’m also reflecting on the liminality of the pandemic, now being somewhat on the other side. Everything between 2020 and now seems like a Charlie Kaufman screenplay. Wait, WHAT just happened?
Even though it was all gradual, I now find myself suddenly with a new career, without a gallbladder, hurtling toward summer and the midpoint of 2024 and wondering how I’m going to bring all the delicious ‘inbetweenness’ into my art somehow.
My head is spinning a little bit.
Some questions for you...
What are you ‘in the middle’ of these days?
Your creative practice is a doorway into the unknown. Are you leaning in?
Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.
This month
Let's borrow a line from Tony’s poem to push off into our pages:
From someplace distant...
or
Time and light are kinds of love…
Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers.
As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.
BETWEEN
Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising. Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.
Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.
Final thought...
“In the human realm, Art is way up there. It was there long before the written word. Art not only survives liminal experiences, it can create them with its transformative power.”
Nancy Hillis, The Adjacent Possible
On your list of things to do today, pencil in “sunlight.” Also “deep breaths.” And “art.”
I’ve been off my game here on Substack these last months, but I’ve missed you. Glad I found my way back.
xoxo
Cyn
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Thank you for the in between writing. I have missed the writings. Always a way to apply what you write to myself. I still need to get some time on your calendar for a catchup and have looked. Our schedules are a little opposite these days but in the next few weeks I will have more time to compare to your schedule. I still want an original Cynthia in my house. Always looking for that too. Take care!