As we enter a new year, we hear a lot about what we are going to do or not do in the coming year. The fitness industry loves this time of year, when people get fired up to join a gym, exercise more, and eat healthier. Many common New Year’s promises point to the ways we have failed to be productive in the past. So much of our thinking is about doing. The idea is that if we check more off of our “to do” lists, we will somehow be better people, more satisfied and content. It’s not always possible to do do do, though, even though I think it is quite fun to be active. Lately, I have been embracing the space in between doing. It is an uncomfortable space at times. The mind can become a little like a kid on a car ride—“Are we there yet?” Or in the case of my mind, “Is it time to paint yet?”
I spend much more time getting ready to paint than I actually spend painting sometimes, and this is when I feel the space between actions. This is different than procrastinating. When a flower isn’t in bloom, it isn’t procrastinating or unproductive. It’s gathering nutrients and growing. None of us can be in bloom all of the time, yet the New Year comes and we make a bunch of promises about how much we will bloom. It isn’t possible to bloom constantly, though, and when people have the expectation of being superhuman, they might feel disappointed with themselves when they’re not. I know this from personal experience, as I’ve often expected myself to be a bit like a superhero with a paintbrush.
Lately I have been asking, “What about the spaces in between accomplishments? Isn’t that life too?”
This is something to ponder in a culture that talks so much about productivity and achievements.
The practice of yoga talks about the transition from one pose to the next being more important than the poses themselves. For years, yoga has been an important part of my life and one of the ways I get ready to paint. I have heard many yoga teachers say that it is the space between knowing and not knowing that is terrifying. I’m not sure I was ever entirely kind to myself in the past when in such a place because I wanted to be moving. Maybe I didn’t link the space between actions then to a connection with the unknown. Lately I’ve been in a more peaceful place in observation of what it means to be an artist and not paint.
Still the mind, like that child in the car, keeps asking, “Is it time to paint yet?”
I stepped onto my patio today to look at the light. A soft morning glow warmed the outdoor space where I paint. I wondered if today would be the day I felt called to return to the easel after a stretch of not painting. Or would I sit on my favorite outdoor chaise lounge in a red wide-brimmed hat that is way too big for my head and drink coffee out of a mug that says, “Let your light shine”?
I chose the coffee.
I chose to look at the plants and breathe.
And I thought, “Now is the only now there will ever be … so it’s really important to wear this red hat today … even though it doesn’t look good, it provides excellent shade and it makes me laugh. I will never be this young again… so I’m going to enjoy the sunshine today because I get right now … I won’t get right now later.”
So from this space between painting—before the paintbrushes and palette knives dance again—I wish you find some space in the moments between actions and achievements.
Happy 2019. May you be kinder this year than any other year to yourself and others.
Brooke Harker
