Following Life and Art into the Unknown
Issue #56/Good and Beautiful Things
In a recent newsletter, I shared a story about a tree climbing adventure with my oldest daughter. It was a story I pulled from a blog post I’d written over a decade ago. One that I’d honestly forgotten about until I came across it again. In the story, an instructor named Fuzzy prepared the moms and daughters for the climbing adventure by talking about “the comfort zone, the stretch zone and the panic zone”.
The story lingered with me as I came home from a successful trip to Costa Rica a few weeks ago despite my chronic health issues. With my courage freshly inflated, I said yes to a new teaching opportunity for the Fall. “Look at me, I’m stepping right into the stretch zone!”
A few days later a problem came up and suddenly our family was wrestling with a decision that could immediately change everything about our daily life. We also found out that one daughter was sick in Africa while another daughter was headed to a specialist for unexplained symptoms. I had one foot in the deep end of the stretch zone and one foot in the panic zone. In just a few short days the metaphor had begun to lose its appeal.
“God, I see you wanted to *ahem* stretch the image a little further,” I said. In reality I didn’t feel particularly amused when the tidy little metaphor jumped out of my newsletter and into my real life.
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Meanwhile the year-long art class that I’ve been taking continued on without me during the month of May. I tried to watch the latest lesson, an introduction to making cyanotypes, but I couldn’t settle my brain enough to absorb the information so I turned it off. The great thing about the teacher and this class is that I knew it was fine to follow my instinct and pause rather than feel guilty for missing assignments.
What I didn’t know (yet) was that getting lost in a process was exactly what I needed while the unknowns of life pressed on.
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The hovering life decision remained in limbo but the sick daughter in Africa was moving into her third day of symptoms and her group was headed into the desert which meant…radio silence.
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It was time for one of the two monthly zoom sessions for my art class. I turned it on and quickly realized it was a continuation of the technique introduced earlier in the week. I had nothing to work on as I listened to the guest artist, Mystele Kirkeeng, share her story and her art process.
I was immediately intrigued by this person with her quirky glasses and brightly colored shirt. She shared about her struggle with depression and chronic health issues and how finding art has been an answer to prayer. In the secular art world it’s rare to hear someone talk about their faith.
A fellow student asked her what she loved about making art and she said:
“The big one for me was realizing that the imperfections, the not knowing what’s gonna happen, that’s what I really love about creating…”
I could have spoken the words myself. They captured exactly how I feel about making art.
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You’ve probably seen cyanotypes before, but a simpler term for them would be sun prints. They’re a common activity for kids. You take a piece of already prepared paper, lay some flowers on the paper, expose it to the sun and then, almost like developing a photograph, an image of the flowers remains on the paper.
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Mystele introduced the class to a different way of using the process. She copied drawings from her sketchbook onto transparency paper and then used those images in place of flowers.
When asked about the traditional use of the cyanotypes she said, “I think all of that is absolutely beautiful…I don’t know how to use my voice just using those materials because I’m so figures and faces, so I guess the drawing was my way to experiment with this medium.”
Her prints had sketchy images of women and words and she’d added color through various mixed media. I realized that part of my hesitation to begin the process was that like Mystele, I didn’t know what I could add to the already familiar look of the floral prints.
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After the zoom call was over I felt inspired to dip into this new process, a process in which I had no idea what might happen when I tried it.
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“The narrative thread through these stages is how we turned to art in the face of great uncertainty—not necessarily to find an answer to it, but to embrace the unknown, even to rejoice in it, and ultimately to alchemize it.”
-Artist and writer, Suleika Jaouad, writing about her upcoming art show with her mother
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For three days I kept my head above water by occupying my hands. I painted chemicals onto paper in dim light. I dug through sketchbooks to find usable images. It’s interesting to use your own work to make new work because the images already come with meaning.
I tried things and they failed. (I don’t really mean “failed”, I just mean they came out “eh”.)
I tried the whole thing again and it worked.
I played and I played.
Each time the results were completely different. Just when I thought I knew what to expect I’d get faded lines and weird textures. The changing sun, the length of exposure time, and the amount of rinsing all affected the process.
So I tried again.
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It’s interesting to see how we all go about finding anchors for life in different ways.
Earlier this week my friend sent me a photo of her garden with this note: “This is my art play these days. A ridiculous, humongous garden that breaks my body and yet holds me together in ways I need somehow.”
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For now God has mercifully put the life altering decision on hold. Our daughter came out of the desert long enough to tell us she was feeling better and sent us photos of herself riding a camel. By the time this arrives in your inbox, she should be stateside.
Thinking through the stretch zone metaphor a bit more, I realized there’s a difference between making the choice to step outside of our comfort zone (like trying out a new job) or when the choice is made for us (like a sick child on the other side of the world). No matter how you end up in the stretch zone it’s uncomfortable, sometimes a little scary and often exhausting.
May we find the work of gardens to hold us together and the threads of art to help us embrace the unknown.
What about you? What is holding you together right now in the midst of the unknown?
Life, Continued.
Other things that have helped this week.
Blessings from the Guest Nest,
-Aimee
P.S.—Thanks so much for reading, sharing, and contributing to the conversation. You can support my art and writing by donating to my art supply fund and by sharing this newsletter with friends who might enjoy it.
Love this, Aimee. Thank you. I'm in a years-long stretch zone not by choice, so I appreciate your reflections (and sun prints!! so inspiring!!)
It’s so lovely to see you really exploring and playing with your art. Thanks for sharing your process, Aimee. I have to say that I love the portrait of artist, Mystele Kirkeeng, and thank for introducing me to her artwork. Knowing when to take a break and being okay about it is do important as a creative. I’m glad you listened to your body and intuition. Your cyanoprints images are so fun and makes me want to explore it myself.
Okay, the last photo of you driving is my favourite though 🤩💛