dear creators,

I like the idea of my studio being a nursery for phenomena— in the sense that I’m doing what I can to create a nurturing place for a natural or extraordinary thing/occurrence to make itself visible.

Here’s a few things that showed up over the past four months:

While working on this particular drawing above, I couldn’t figure out why I was thinking about baseball so much. Until the day came when I realized that the light switches to the studio sounded like stadium lights being turned on and off. A sneaky influence.

For whatever reason (or no reason), my rock gathering tendency has been super ramped up. Since I’m always keeping an eye out for the presence of a phenomenon in my art practice, I’ve been trying to find words to describe the phenomenological correlation I feel between stones and my work. As far as I can tell, rocks don’t have any particular inherent meaning (unless you give them one) but certain ones amaze me with their…essence of existence, maybe? When something surprising shows up in my work that I didn’t intend, I’m also amazed before I attach any meaning. In both cases, this moment of amazement feels free and invigorating.

This awestruck wonder (or perhaps a willing suspension of disbelief) could be a gateway to enhanced perception or at least a momentary escape from habitual thought. The important thing is that there’s no explanation. There’s no need because it’s a direct experience beyond thought.

All year I’ve been giving all this wonder to the relationship between art and stones and, by chance, I came across an Art21 interview with artist Kerry James Marshall where he seems to be talking about the same thing (though I could be off about that). If he is, he says it better than I can at this time:

“It’s like a rock, in a sense. Well, rocks just are. Now they all can tell a story—but we don’t examine the story that all rocks tell, only certain rocks. And it’s that compelling component that I equate with being beautiful. One of the ways we earn our audience’s attention is to make things that are phenomenologically fascinating. When the moon comes up in the evening and it’s full, it’s an amazing thing. And that’s a phenomena that we don’t need to explain. When artists make things, I think we attempt to make things that have the same kind of existential authority. It’s interesting just because it is.”

Share

Here’s one of Marshall’s paintings that I love:

I’m back in class the week after the long weekend and can’t wait to see what I’ll bump into when I’m backing up to get a better look at something that seems interesting!

I don’t think I say this enough but I sincerely appreciate you all for reading and for your support!!

Hugs and beams,

~Corrie

dear creators,

I’ve been wondering a lot about hope this month and why it might be taken as something lame, naive or delusional.

I’m guessing this has something to do with it being lumped in with wishful thinking. Something like, I hope I’ll get this or that or things will turn out the way I want. There’s a kind of desperation edge to this type of hope (that could be tied to fear) and it seems to leave a person off the hook, responsibility-wise.

I’m interested in a more radical hope that is a quality of being; one that propels me to demonstrate my appreciation of life despite my own struggles and while being painfully aware of and continuously informed about the suffering in and of the world.

I find this hope-ness best described by playwright, essayist, and poet Václav Havel (Oct. 5, 1936–Dec. 18, 2011), who was imprisoned by the Czechoslovakian State Security Police for speaking and acting out against the communist regime. The following words were published in ‘Disturbing the Peace’ (1990):

“The kind of hope I often think about (especially in situations that are particularly hopeless, such as prison) I understand above all as a state of mind, not a state of the world. Either we have hope within us or we don’t; it is a dimension of the soul; it’s not essentially dependent on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation. Hope is not prognostication. It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart; it transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons.

[…]

Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for early success, but, rather, an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed. The more unpropitious the situation in which we demonstrate hope, the deeper that hope is. Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.

In short, I think that the deepest and most important form of hope, the only one that can keep us above water and urge us to good works, and the only true source of the breathtaking dimension of the human spirit and its efforts, is something we get, as it were, from “elsewhere.” It is also this hope, above all, which gives us the strength to live and continually to try new things, even in conditions that seem as hopeless as ours do, here and now.”

Share

Havel eventually went on to replace the dictatorship, serving as the first democratically elected president of Czechoslovakia and the first president of the Czech Republic. I don’t mention this to give the impression that this is about a form of hope that we need to overthrow a tyrannical government. Even if there’s some truth in this, I’m not interested in any directive. I’m curious about what may be vital for the human spirit to thrive.

One thing that stands out to me in Havel’s description, is that he takes into account the personal responsibility involved. For example, the “ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed.” Contrary to only waiting around with a positive attitude, it’s about personally creating something that naturally propels us and sustains us regardless of external conditions. For me, time and energy devoted to what makes me feel alive is all the ‘good’ I need.

I get how that might sound self-serving or pleasure seeking but I’m not referring to anything superficial. Howard Thurman, who was an American author, philosopher, theologian, educator, and civil rights leader, may have said it best:

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

Doing what makes you come alive is a very radical thing! Countless obstacles keep most of the population striving and/or downtrodden. I really take notice when I’ve been in contact with someone who radiates authentic joy and vitality, because I seem to become more attuned to what makes me feel alive and I get a boost to commit to that. And once I’m deeply committed to my own internal source, I’m able to reclaim enough life-force that makes it possible to extend a helping hand to another without even thinking about it.

On the contrary, when I’m feeling exhausted by trying to keep up with societal expectations and demands (including the pressure to do something to fix the world), I don’t feel like I can support anyone else. I recently heard someone say, “Most bodies aren’t tired, they are held” and I had one of those bonnggg! sounding moments. Held— in defence, fear, shame, inadequacy, guilt, pettiness, whatever— the energy drain comes from narratives that perpetuate resistance to living. As Havel put it, “Either we have hope within us or we don’t; it is a dimension of the soul; it’s not essentially dependent on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation.”

Once in a while when I’m expressing this enlivened feeling of hope it’s met with some resistance. Such encounters taste a bit like, well you must never have suffered if you’re able to express joy at a time like this. I think it’s healing for people to support one another through shared experiences of distress and anxiety, but I’m not convinced it’s necessary to have to prove you’ve suffered by looking like you have. As I’ve already written elsewhere, properly grieving is a must— but then we need to find the strength to live and continually try new things.

Some of the things that make the most sense to me, regarding finding the strength to live, come directly through the body— singing, dancing, laughing, telling stories (to create!) the way humans have for eons. If such expression is genuinely heartfelt, isn’t it the ultimate defiance against any oppression because it nourishes, energizes and emboldens your entire being? I’m not draining myself in the battle if I’m oriented from my spirit versus fixated on an opponent (especially one that I can’t even specifically locate).

Wishing everyone some spontaneous bliss this long weekend!

Warmthness,

~Corrie

dear creators,

Have you ever been blessed with a rare opportunity, item or time with a person/people etc. and felt like you wanted to make the most of it but then ruined the whole thing with that overly conscious pressure?

Now that I’m at the half-way point of having special access to a gymnasium scale studio, there’s a crescendo of the are-you-making-the-most-of-this? that implies physical evidence of being highly productive. This is especially problematic when I’ve come to a natural standstill. At such a time, if I attempt to grind it out then I end up becoming a disembodied operator locked in a room with a switchboard and no ability to see or hear the work.

By ‘standstill’ I’m not referring to a ‘creative block’— though it’s easy to confuse them. Since I’ve been here so many times before (you may have noticed that I’ve written about it in other letters), I have a pretty good idea of how to distinguish the two. In this letter, I want to share something about saddling up with the stilling.

If I had to narrow down one question that can rescue me from the conditioning of the hustle and grind paradigm it’s, “What is it that’s most important to me?” If I manage to conjure that question when I’m mentally and physically fricasseed, the first thing I experience internally is silence. You’d think I’d immediately start trying to answer that question (especially given that I’m an idea junkie!) but instead I take an involuntary deep inhale/exhale and I listen.

This ‘listening’ reminds me of a story I read about Mother Teresa. I haven’t been able to pin down the original source but, allegedly, during a televised interview in 1980 with CBS anchor, Dan Rather, there was the following exchange:

Dan Rather: When you pray, what do you say to God?

Mother Teresa: I don’t say anything. I listen.

DR: Well, okay... when God speaks to you, then, what does he say?

MT: He doesn’t say anything. He listens. ... And if you don’t understand that, I can’t explain it to you.

Though I don’t identify as Christian and probably don’t understand this in the way Mother Teresa understands, I can relate to this listening to listening because it seems to describe my response to what’s most important to me. And while I get the feeling that listening to life means life is also listening to (my) listening, there’s no shape or form to this— there’s only infinite spaciousness; unbounded, unlimited and unobstructed.

If I come into a natural standstill with my creative work, the worse thing I can do is forcibly try to produce things. That may be the best route to transcend inertness in another context. In this case, I’m speaking to the circumstance when I know I’m supposed to be ‘still’ but think I have to force myself so that no one can criticize or doubt my commitment, work ethic, etc.

Share

I’ve had to learn over and over again that the conditions needed for creating something from some hidden depth involves truly entering that depth. I can’t be afraid of putting time into this— it’s the source of the physically manifested work.

What does putting time into this look like? Sometimes I just sit on the floor with my back against the wall and imagine I’m sitting at the bottom of a well. Other times I go for long walks with no destination in mind. From this I’ve noticed how the wind, thunder, water trickling, a hawk shrieking…these sounds all have the same quality as listening to silence when I experience them because I’m not thinking. Any of my ruminating, deliberating or hunting for answers is distinctly noise.

I’m re-reading Haruki Murakami’s Wind-up Bird Chronicle right now and there’s a passage on page 328 where Toru is facing a standstill and is all bent out of shape about what to do:

My uncle smiled. “You know what I think? I think what you ought to do is start by thinking about the simplest things and go from there. For example, you could stand on a street corner somewhere day after day and look at the people who come by there. You’re not in any hurry to decide anything. It may be tough, but sometimes you’ve just got to stop and take time. You ought to train yourself to look at things with your own eyes until something comes clear.”

At first, Toru can’t help judging or attaching narratives to the people he sees but after a few days he’s able to observe without a thought. Then after eleven days, something in particular catches his attention and he spontaneously springs into action.

No matter how many times ‘things work out’ after I’ve been ‘still’ long enough for something to spontaneously become clear, it’s always a leap of faith! It’s not the same as setting up a consistent routine, schedule or set of steps that deliver predictable results. For one thing, there’s comfort in knowing with that kind of system. If you produce something physical daily, you can ‘see’ those results (like, look how effectively I’ve used my time!).

When I’m only listening I have no idea how long it will take or what will actually pull me out of the standstill. If I think about it, it’s like nothing is happening! and time is being wasted! It can be totally agonizing if my mind is driving. On top of that, I’m going to have to deal with being repetitively asked, “What have you been working on all this time?”

That’s when I come back to that question, “What is it that’s most important to me?” If I really have to give someone else an answer to that, I would say that I want to make contact with infinite spaciousness— I want to make something that’s alive and feels like it’s listening while I listen. If I manage to connect with that, no amount of external judgement, comparison or haranguing about being productive is going to even register because none of that has any meaning whatsoever.

So yeah, a standstill can feel like being held by the weight of a mountain. But that means I can sit by a lake below and be nourished by an endless source of joy and vitality. Why be in a rush to get away from that?

Wishing you all such nourishment,

~Corrie

P.S.

While writing this, I bumped into knowledge of the existence of the katakago flower (aka katakuri and dogtooth violet). It remains a single leaf seedling for seven to ten years before it gathers enough energy to bloom. Then it has the potential to continue to bloom every spring for thirty to forty years. Seems like a master of the standstill.

dear creators,

When I posted the first letter on this topic (Studio Peep 1.), I was only thinking of sharing my time in the particular room I’ve been temporarily granted at school (above). But something I’ve caught onto over the past nine months are the powerful and direct influences coming from the periphery of my day to day.

More than one artist has admitted that ‘the studio’ is actually everywhere. I mean, yeah, we’re constantly soaking up inspiration from all kinds of known, unknown and unknowable sources. But recently, I thought it was plausible that a particular work of mine could be traced back to a very specific encounter that occurred out on a street seven months prior.

The work I’m referring to (below) involves the suspension of various materials on ‘invisible’ quilting thread. Against a white or light grey background, this thread is virtually undetectable— to the extend that viewers are guaranteed to walk into it and respond with an amusing just-ran-into-a-cobweb-face (I’m not sadistic, though. Really, that’s why I added a boundary with some stones).

The experience that I’m betting sparked this work involved a toy airplane dangling from a tree on my regular route to school. For whatever reason, catching a glimpse of this while riding down Wende Road one October night stopped me dead in my tracks. Usually I’m coming from the other direction at such a late hour so that I hadn’t noticed it before. I took the following photo:

I couldn’t tell you exactly why I was so mesmerized by this inconsequential thing but I’m guessing it had to do with a feeling I’d been grappling with and hadn’t yet been able to understand or articulate.

When it came time to submit an artist statement to go with the above installation in a recent show, it made the most sense to credit the suspended plane so I wrote the following:

Riding my bike home in the dark one night

I happened to look up and see a toy airplane

dangling from a string high up in some branches

There was something vaguely disturbing about its slow tilting

back and forth in the breeze

I heard Fugazi’s ‘Bad Mouth’ track in my head

“You can’t be what you were

So you better start being just what you are

You can’t be what you were

The time is now, it’s running out

It’s running out, it’s running, running, running out”

Looking back, it’s very likely that this encounter

was the impetus for this work

As if it opened a specific point of gravity

that began pulling in

everything it needed to exist

***

I like the idea that the manifestation of this work was waiting in that airplane. Maybe my hidden desire and its desire called out to each other. Who can explain how I just happened to have a roll of ‘invisible thread’ in a box in my studio? It’s this kind of strangeness that keeps me going.

Share

I’m also including a flood of images that came from puttering with my various collections. These were all composed in the specifically designated ‘studio space'. If I ever need to put myself in a trance and disable any overthinking, I make things that I never intend to show and only take a photo as evidence before letting them come apart. Maybe I’m giving them a bit more life (than my phone storage) by posting them here.

Wishing you all a bit of strangeness that leads you to some beauty…or more strangeness,

~Corrie

dear creators,

Shortly after posting my last letter, where I was reflecting on the sensation of melancholy that accompanies my attention to something I deem beautiful, I bumped into a talk titled ‘Grief and Praise’.

No matter how many times the things I need fall into my lap, I’m taken aback and thrilled every damn time! This three-part presentation was delivered by Martín Prechtel— who is an artist, writer, musician, storyteller, teacher, and healer, and I felt it connected to this ‘life/affirming-death/accepting’ experience I’ve been having (see last letter).

Prechtel speaks from personal experience that includes what he learned from the Tzutujil Mayan teachings and proposes that “Grief and praise are one and the same” so “if you can’t grieve, you can’t praise.” Why is this? He says, “Your mortality is in your face every time you praise realistically…if you are praising something, your grief has to be present for the stakes to be high enough for the praise to be legitimate.

I don’t know if my praise is legit or not, but I’m still being taken over by sudden swells of feeling on a daily basis. Now I’m noticing an enhanced presence in these moments that I would describe less as melancholy and more as intense appreciation for being alive.

Prechtel also shares thoughts on the subject of a population that hasn’t been able to grieve/praise properly for generations. If you’re curious, I recommend listening to the full talk.

***

On the topic of ‘galloping riderless’, I wanted to share this video of the 2025 Japan Cup horse race from last November. I love horses, but it’s not like I follow horse racing— this is something exceptional, though. Right at the start gate, the rider gets dumped as Admire Terra stumbles and this horse goes on to break a world record in a three-way sprint finish.

[sidebar: I might actually show this video as my artist statement the next time I’m asked for one. But I don’t want to have to spell out all the ways it constellates to my practice and what my innermost being longs for.]

Not surprisingly, I’m laughing and bawling within the two and a half minutes of this event. And though I don’t expect anyone to respond as I do, I find it sadly lifeless that the announcer of this race follows all the rules and pretty much ignores the existence of this riderless horse.

By rules I mean that Admire Terra is technically ‘out of the race’ — so what? Would it hurt to praise his beaming spirit and agency to continue to compete without a rider?! Don’t you see?! (Now I want to go back and find a translation of the Japanese announcer)

Share

Some might say that this horse has been conditioned to stay in the race and he’s in robo-mode. While his breeding and training are obvious factors, isn’t it an insult to Admire Terra’s intelligence to think that he had no awareness that he lost his mount and that he defaulted to competing for the win? If you watch carefully, you can see his hesitation at the beginning and then his resolve to go for it.

Even if you think he won because he was lighter without a rider and this isn’t fair to the other competitors, this is ignoring the fact that he came from way behind and outside the rail to gain the lead without his usual external (human) guidance. Also, he’s giving everything to that ears-back stretch finish (below).

Much of what I’ve said could be taken as conjecture but there’s no way to prove a feeling. I do kinda want to see a horse race with no riders, though. Not horses that have been trained and prepared to do so, mind you. I mean the jockeys should all just agree to dismount at the start gate and see what happens.

I would also like to mention that reports say that the jockey, Yuga Kawada, was not seriously injured in this race. I don’t know what he’s dealing with in terms of upset investors and such. And it can’t be easy watching your horse break a world record (that won’t be acknowledged) without you. But I’m thankful for his part in the creation of something unexpected.

Whatever anyone has to say about this event, I was immediately in a “damn that’s beautiful!” moment. Naturally, I grieved in full praise.

All beams,

~Corrie

P.S. When I did a search for the well-being of the jockey, AI seemed to freak out (below). Anyone know what’s up with 03?

dear creators,

Art and impermanence go well together. Even though great efforts are given to maintain and preserve physical forms, the vitality of a work of art is far from a static quality. Beethoven on paper is dormant until someone playing or listening (maybe reading?) it is experiencing it in the present moment.

If I had to name a couple of large scale movements that reflect a central interest in or an expression of ephemerality, Fluxus and Land Art (see below) are the first to come to mind. I would also mention the Japanese philosophy and aesthetics of Wabi Sabi as well as any Graffiti in the wild— where it always faces being removed or covered (versus permanent and endorsed works). Beyond categorizations, all artists and works are involved with the transitoriness of life as nothing escapes this.

Creating things has taught me a fair bit about finding joy in the ephemerality of life. Working with water and ink, for instance, I never know how it’s going to settle and dry and I’m always overriding a part of me that wants to latch on to a particular stage in its movement. I feel the release each time I drop that attachment compulsion. Recently, however, I’ve felt a serious involuntary shift regarding my relationship to impermanence .

It dawned on me that, since January, I have been consistently struck by an abrupt and overwhelming wave of melancholy several times a day. These swells don’t just appear out of nowhere. The sensation is usually set off by my appreciation of something I find beautiful.

My question is: why do I feel so damn sorrowful when I notice such things as exquisite fresh blooms (it’s full-boar Spring here in Victoria, BC), the crisp sliver of a crescent moon, the chorus of frogs when I get home at night, certain music, the hazing of ink in water (I’ve been tearing up quite a bit while working on a large scale drawing), a short doc film about a penguin wandering off to the mountains (I’ll come back to this one) etc.

Since I’ve been wondering about this a fair bit, I’ve brought it up in conversation with a few people. The most common response is ‘hormones’ (erk!)— and, though that might be a satisfying answer to a robot, I get the feeling that there’s more to it.

It has occurred to me that while noticing something beautiful, I’m also recognizing that nothings lasts. Okay, sure, that makes sense—feeling bummed out that everything will eventually be gone. But I’ve known this ephemeral quality of life for quite some time… so why does it feel like I’m experiencing this in the core of my being right now?

I don’t think it’s worth getting hung up on, where is this coming from? so instead I’m considering what I might glean from the overall experience as it is. Up until now, I’ve known that things don’t last but I still behave like they’ll last forever. No need to go into a list of what I take for granted or what I’m clinging to (feel free to reflect on your own list).

If I’m really starting to take it to heart that I’ll eventually have to say goodbye to it all, that might be why I’m dealing with an overwhelming sadness. So what? I’m just supposed to feel miserable?! That can’t be it.

Perhaps this spontaneous, deeply heartfelt realization that I’ll eventually have to let everything go will help me lessen my grip on the things that actually have a hold on me, right now. I’m thinking, wouldn’t it be incredible to be free of all the things I think I have to have, the things I can’t bear to lose, the things I avoid…? Wouldn’t it be nice if all my spontaneous bursts into tears were a kind of natural letting go process?

It would be worth it if I’m dissolving the illusions I’ve bought into and I’m able to see things as they really are (my self included). From this angle, the melancholy seems like an entrance to a profound acceptance of life as it is (without all of my intellectual projections and phoney attachments). I like the sound of this life-affirming/death-accepting perspective but I’ll be honest, I’m still standing in the entranceway.

Share

Back to that mention of a penguin: I watched a sequence from Encounters at the end of the World (written, narrated and directed by Werner Herzog, 2007) featuring a lone penguin that, instead of heading for the sea or back to its group, begins walking toward the mountainous interior of Antartica.

According to the commentary, even if someone caught it and brought it back to the colony, it would immediately head right back for the mountains and 5000km of continent (screenshots from the video below).

When such penguins are found alone in far off places where they ‘should not be’, relative to their typical behaviour in a colony or physical survival, researchers consider them disoriented or possibly deranged. But the truth is, we have no way of knowing what’s going on with this creature.

I responded to this as something incredibly beautiful— accompanied with an intense melancholic wave. This time I suspect a blend of many personal experiences and perceptions around being ‘off course’ in life. Is it really just anthropomorphizing to wonder if such a penguin is responding to a call from within? Isn’t it equally anthropomorphic to call it deranged or disoriented?

I’m left wondering about the emphasis humans place on the importance of physical survival to determine whether a living thing is behaving in a balanced way. If to be life-affirming implies, simultaneously, to be death-accepting who can say that this penguin isn’t behaving as it is meant to be? Also, how many memes have been created out there from this penguin clip?

If anyone still feels like chalking this whole thing up to ‘hormones’, you may want to check out the Japanese philosophy of mono no aware or Zen Buddhist, D.T. Suzuki’s use of the phrase, “eternal yea.”

Big teary grin,

~Corrie

dear creators,

You know those times when you set out to make something and then totally stall-out on what to start with? I know I’ve written about this already on several occasions but, yesterday, this is where I found myself again! My mind wanted to conjure all kinds of excuses or reasons why this was happening but I immediately Donkey Kong punched that reaction in me—there’s no answer to be found there.

The other impulse that I had to kick away was the one that had me glancing over at my phone to scroll other artists and their work. Personally speaking, I never find what I need in someone else’s work— and if I’m in a bog, I’ll just end up spending all of my time in distraction looking at amazing art (a fine thing to do for pleasure on another occasion).

I opted for wandering in the rain toward Cinecenta Munchie Bar for a coffee. On the way there I came across a large mound of concrete rubble that had just been jack hammered. After I claimed my coffee (priority) and dropped it off in the studio, I made my way back to the construction site to make off with some debris.

My arms were pretty much useless after this so I ended up just sitting quietly staring at the floor where a bunch of obscure items I had scored at a weekend rummage sale lay scattered about. Without a thought, I sat down with these various metal objects and started banging on them with a chopstick (from dinner) and some wood doweling (see below).

I was just taking in all the tones with sometimes orderly but mostly erratic rhythms. I have no idea how long I made this noise but when I eventually stood up, my butt was asleep and I knew what I wanted to make.

It’s too early to reveal what that is, but I can tell you that it looks like it had nothing to do with all the events leading up to it. So what was all that futzing around about? I’ll probably never know for sure but I wonder if it has something to do with totally giving in to being lost when I feel at a loss. This includes losing my sense of self. It’s like, okay I’m nobody and there’s nothing I can do so I may as well do nothing— except that the ‘nothing’ requires bodily movement or action of some kind.

Share

Futzing, putzing, puttering, tinkering…these are all activities that engage a very relaxed attention without any particular aim or intention for results. Unless, that is, you intend to be freed from stubbornly flooring the gas pedal while getting no traction and sinking deeper into the muck. Then it’s time to turn the engine off, sigh deeply, get out of the car and stroll up the road so you can cut through a meadow or maybe jump in a river.

Setting up an expectation to make something sometimes comes from a pressured space of order or maybe a sense of control that instigates an inward lockdown. In my experience the ideal path out of this is to playfully enter chaos without getting bent on a clear path forward. Any sense or order that comes after this isn’t something I need to try for; it’s as if it happens on its own.

So much of my dithering in life comes down to this wise expression:

GET OVER YOURSELF

And that can feel like a gopher mound or the moon depending on the context and the day.

May you all find freedom in futzing,

~Corrie

“I am free and that is why I am lost.” ~ Franz Kafka

Free from all thoughts of ‘ I’ and ‘mine’, a person finds absolute peace. ~The Bhagavad Gita

dear creators,

In my last letter, I was wondering about the necessity of incubation— those substantial durations of time when you’re not trying to do anything so that energy and material can be easily gathered for a creative ramping and unfolding.

This month, I’ve been oscillating between feeling groggy and having brief bursts of aliveness, accompanied by compulsive eating. At one point I found myself asking, “what am I, a bear-coming-out-of-hibernation?” (that’s if I want to pretend that I know what it feels like to be a bear). Then I remembered something that Bill Callahan had written in ‘Letters to Emma Bowlcut’ (pg. 48):

Letter 40

“Everything I’ve done today could have been done by a bear. The long seasoned sleep. The lumbering out of bed. Tearing at a hard roll dipped in honey. And then sprawling lazily in the grass where the sun hit. I was going to take a bath but decided that would have been too much bear activity, so I showered. Or will in a bit. If I took a bath I think I would hunker down, expecting Emma Salmon to swim by so I could scoop her up.

Saw a lone deer at yesterday’s sunset. It looked down the road with an expression as if waiting for something in particular. Antlers. That deer had a nice face. Like it would help you out in a jam if it could.

We are both going away. I had thought it was only me. I will now be paying more attention to what you will pack than to what I will.

Last night the wind was blowing fierce and temperatures were dropping fast. The blind knocked a glass item off the sill. I knew it would happen but left the glass item there anyway. The bedroom door was slamming open and shut. Fell asleep and woke with a scream while staring at a dark spot on the wall. When lightening flashed I saw the horizon on all four walls. Your silhouette on each. I knew then that I know exactly what it would feel like to stand before you again. With your nose moving as it does.

When I got up I noticed several complete outfits of clothes in piles on my floor. As if a group of men had dropped them and gone out into the storm naked.

If you think of something, do you stop to write it down?”

Share

Even though some of this text might come across as relatively abstract, the descriptions somehow manage to totally capture my patterns of existence and feelings over the last few weeks. I literally have several complete outfits in piles on my floor at this moment—the socks are even still positioned at the bottom of the pant legs.

I would like to say that I’m in a transition period— just on the brink of a brilliant revival (without getting too clingy to that idea). If I really were a bear, I probably wouldn’t be doubting the natural timing for coming out of a deep slumber and I wouldn’t feel lame about being spaced-out while hunting for snacks all day.

I figure as long as I bumble around in the studio and make some things without useless pressure to make anything good, I won’t be in any danger of giving in to demon thoughts that say, “you’re in a slump!”

Hope no one out there is beating themselves up for feeling like you’re just waking up.

Warmthness,

Corrie

dear creators,

The new moon during this last Winter Solstice really had me wondering about the implications of the darkest of dark days of the year. I don’t mean anything ominous—though it wouldn’t be too hard to come up with a doomy narrative these days.

Every year at this time I’m reminded by my own mind and body that it’s the season to chill and reflect and yet, like everyone else I know, I’m always swept up in the busy-bodydom of regular work and the ‘Festivus’ season. I’m sure that a big part of this popular inclination to be ever-moving and merry has to do with staying out of the reach of the lurking threat of depression brought on by isolation, lack of vitamin D etc. But even though this is a legit concern (and celebration with family and/or friends is important) I want to consider the advantage of leaning into a bit of depression.

I’ve been skimming Marie-Louise von Franz’s, The Cat: A Tale of Feminine Redemption and, in reference to a few different European fairytales, she asks, “Why is there such a long barrenness before the hero child is born?” It seems that the women in these stories have difficulty becoming pregnant. What does this have to do with art and creativity?

Perhaps I should note that von Franz was a colleague of Swiss psychoanalyst C.G. Jung and did research with Jung about the relationship between the human psyche and fairytales/stories told within distinct cultures. This is to say that they have made a case that human behavioural patterns and repetitive life narratives can be found reflected (metaphorically and sometime literally) in traditional storytelling.

Relative to my own creative practice, even though I’ve experienced and written about it already, I continue to struggle with long stretches of not making any work. These periods are marked by a feeling of depression or of boredom, of no motivation and of nothing going on— and if I simply relax into it all, I can bet that a tremendous amount of energy is accumulating in my unconscious. Then a creative surge bursts forth without any effort on my part.

Share

So what stands in the way of this process? Without deliberately and consistently leaning into this barrenness, I end up being overwhelmed by the inner demon voices that say, “you’re being a lazy-ass”, “you need to be more disciplined”, “you’re wasting time” etc. Then 1) I tend to force action that causes unnecessary stress and anxiety that leads to making things that come out shallow and contrived or 2) I feel ashamed while wasting strength trying to resist the voices. Both ultimately interfere with and prolong the ‘barren’ or incubation period.

The other thing that interferes with my need to retreat and stay low is the non-stop external demands of a day job. Especially the constant checking in with emails/texts/group chats. Capitalism doesn’t exactly nurture rest, recovery and nothing-going-on— despite life’s demonstration of the necessity of those things for sustainable abundance.

I gather that many people are relatively aware of the need to take it easy even when they can no longer sit still. Søren Kierkegaard, who has been deemed the first existentialist philosopher, believed that the greatest source of human unhappiness was the refusal to comprehend that “busy is a decision” (Either/Or: A Fragment of Life, 1843). He also argued that presence is infinitely more rewarding than productivity.

In my own experience of the bounty of the barrenness, I would say that presence is pretty vital. I need to be able to trust that every moment of nothing happening in my conscious awareness indicates an accumulation behind the scenes. If I entertain the feeling of guilt, I’m just going to decide to be busy to distract myself from the uncomfortable emptiness— like constantly raking the soil so nothing can ever become fertile.

As usual, I would recommend a playful spirit toward any of this. Like I said, I’m no master and still grapple with and need to be reminded of this lesson (not to mention so many others!). I’ll admit—even if I don’t take any of it too seriously— geez, the repeat can be annoying as hell!

Wishing you all fresh wonders in the New Year!

With beams,

~Corrie

Sources:

Kierkegaard, Søren. Either/Or: A Fragment of Life. Penguin Classics, 1992.

von Franz, Marie-Louise. The Cat: A Tale of Feminine Redemption. Inner City Books, 1980.

dear creators,

I know! This is a really early November letter right on the heels of October! And it’s a first in more than one way.

I had the feeling that my last couple correspondences were maybe a bit heeeaavvy. Being in school sorta ramps up that side of me— so to chill it out a bit, I thought I might share some of the things I’ve been pulling together and apart in my studio.

None of what I reveal here is actually ready to show, especially in cyberspace— so this is also a first and another kind of experiment. I have to be cautious that I don’t give away too much too early because sometimes work loses its momentum when I do that. When that happens, it’s as if the force behind the work gets miffed and says, “Hey, I thought it was just us”— and then breaks up with me.

Also, you may at some things wonder, “what the hell is that?” Feel free to imagine me happily responding with, “Beats me.” I rarely have any coherent idea of what I’m making until years have past and that’s how I like it (although, not the most ideal when grant writing). More on that in a future letter:)

The above three works involve cutting an image out of one side of the page and then pasting it into the image on the back side (hence the mirror negative space).

In the past, I had placed a rule on myself to avoid making drawings and paintings because I had too much conditioning that interfered with my spontaneity there. The part of me that wanted to fix everything and doubted every mysterious or unrefined mark was a big problem. But lately, those kind of inner voices have hushed-up enough that I’ve been able to enjoy working on paper without holding-back.

I’m in a group show in a couple of weeks and who knows what will make it in there— I’ll reveal that soon!

Big grin,

~Corrie

dear creators,

Last month, I left my letter off with:

Entering a learning institution again has been a thrilling-daunting oscillation and my first major move (rein-in, actually) to become more consistent at observing my own mind has to do with ‘deep listening’.

So I’d like to go into this idea of deep listening as it’s been introduced to me by J. Krishnamurti in the book, As One Is: To Free the Mind from all Conditioning.

Before I do that…it just occurred to me that I haven’t really shared how I’ve been considering the ‘mind’. I don’t want to pin it down, exactly, but I’ve been wondering about it as something that includes our waking consciousness and daily interactions as well as the deep layers that reside in what Swiss psychologist and psychiatrist, Carl G. Jung, called the unconscious.

The unconscious mind is what we as individuals do not identify with— including dreams, beliefs, perceptions, unintentional verbal and nonverbal signals, and ideas. It’s all of the influence that we are not consciously aware of.

I’ve heard a theory that everyone’s DNA contains the entire history and evolution of all of humanity. So when it comes to liberating the mind from all conditioning…see what we’re up against?!!

[I would like to note that there are numerous cultures with their own frameworks to describe and work with these deep processes and I respect these frameworks as equally valid. I am simply not well versed in them.]

Back to the deep listening: In a variety of contexts— whether I’m listening in a conversation, a lecture, to a podcast, watching a video or film, reading a text etc.— I’ve noticed that I’m rapidly agreeing or disagreeing in my mind and, overall, I’m interpreting what is being said based on my own understanding. I can sense that my present knowledge is intervening between what is being said and my comprehension of it. I also notice a subtle (or not so subtle) tension coming out of the urge to find an answer.

So am I really listening or is this the only way I’m capable of listening? Krishnamurti draws a distinction between concentration and attention:

“Concentration implies choice, does it not? You are trying to concentrate on what I am saying, so your mind is focused, made narrow, and other thoughts intervene; so there is not an actual listening but a battle going on in the mind, a conflict between what you are hearing and your desire to translate it, to apply what I am talking about, and so on. Whereas, attention is something entirely different.

In attention there is no focusing, no choice; there is complete awareness without any interpretation. And if we can listen so attentively, completely, to what is being said, then that attention brings about the miracle of change within the mind itself.”

When concentrating, there’s constant movement of habitual thought that feels impossible to be free of. I mean, even trying to move in attempt to be free of it all is the result of my mind’s conditioning so that’s just gonna lead to more conditioning, right?! It’s like all the trains lead to the same place— so there’s no point to jumping another one. What’s left? No trains and no move at all.

“Though it has problems, innumerable urges, conflicts, ambitions, if—through self-knowledge, through watching itself without acceptance and condemnation—the mind is choicelessly aware of its own process, then out of that awareness there comes an astonishing silence, a quietness of the mind in which there is no movement of any kind.”

Without expecting any results and without being judgy, I’ve been gradually increasing a practice (we’re talkin’ real tiny baby steps, here) of watching my mind as I’m listening; I’m just noticing the intercepting thoughts and feelings as they come up (though I can’t help smiling at some of the ridiculous commentary that arises).

So far, it looks like this: shortly after I begin I lose my awareness and concentration takes over and then I realize that I’m identifying with the thoughts and feelings again— I have to reset often…but so what? (shoulder shrug).

Share

I’m trusting this process because I’ve tasted what feels like soft vast spaciousness in my creative practice— what I could describe as deep listening and liberation.

Have you ever had a stretch of time when you didn’t really care about anything in particular? I don’t mean feeling despondent or ‘checked-out.’ I’m referring to when you may have been calmly experiencing something (or nothing in particular), forgot about everything including yourself and perhaps felt an incredible lightness of being. For me, that forgetting of the self seems to be when my mind stops moving.

Maybe this is what Krishnamurti is referring to when he says, “…the mind is free because it is no longer desiring anything; it is no longer seeking; it is no longer pursuing a goal, an ideal—which are all the projections of a conditioned mind. And if you ever come to that understanding, in which there can be no self-deception, then you will find that there is possibility of the coming into being of that extraordinary thing called creativity.”

It’s really damn tricky not to reach for this stillness, though! I’ve realized that it’s far easier to abandon the movement of my mind when I’m creating alone than when I’m directly engaging with other people and their minds.

The enormous patience required for this deep listening could be why the mind says, don’t bother… but without it we’ll probably continue to repeat history—individually and collectively.

If any of you are sincerely considering this—Good luck!

^^Wishing everyone a blessed Equinox season!^^

Keep the beat,

~Corrie

P.S. I feel like someone or something terrorized these pumpkins:

dear creators,

Now that I’m a month into my MFA (Masters of Fine Arts), I’ve been wondering a fair bit about the nature of my creative research and my longing to be free with it. Fair warning: I’m treading pretty deeply into philosophical land that still feels misty to me (if any of it gets too blurry, maybe skip to the poem at the end).

A couple months ago I picked up a copy of J. Krishnamurti’s book, 'As One Is: to free the mind from all conditioning.’ Not exactly a light read— but I gotta say, I’ve felt lighter after reading it!

This title hit me like a drawn-out whale call—maybe because, for decades, I’ve been asking whether the mind can be completely deconditioned. How often have you found yourself saying or doing something that felt like someone else’s idea? I mean, how often have you felt confident that you are expressing the real you? Does that even exist? And if it does, what is it and where does it come from?

As if anyone could ever conclusively answer that! At this point, I’m merely pointing out the doubt that propels the search for the self.

In most settings, when I casually bring up this question of freeing the mind from all conditioning, it almost always gets brushed off with a that’s-not-possible attitude. Perhaps your mind is saying the same thing right now. We’ve all inherited a tendency to dismiss anything that doesn’t clearly offer a ‘how’ in order to obtain ‘a result.’

And that’s what I want to experiment with— to forget about any how or any possible result. Seems utterly pointless, right? For me, art is the ideal domain to play with such seemingly impossible (or useless) concepts.

Scattered throughout these letters is the idea of abandoning our preferences in any given moment. I’m not saying we shouldn’t have preferences— how fun would that be?! So what’s the point of such abandonment?

How many of us could say that we feel at peace with ourselves or with what’s happening around us in any given moment? How often do we wish we were somewhere else, with some other people (or with people who were behaving the way we want them to), doing something else and feeling differently?

Krishnamurti pointed out, “Most of us are seeking; that is why we are here, but in our search we want to find something, a result, a goal, a state of being in which we can be happy, peaceful; so our search is already determined is it not? When we seek, we are seeking something which we want so our search is already established, predetermined, and therefore it is no longer a search.

[…]

And it is one of the most difficult things to free the mind from the desire to find a result.”

Without quoting the whole book, this sounds like it’s going against goal-setting of any kind. Obviously, there’s a practical necessity for having plans and making preparations for them. I’m interested in the idea that most of our desires are the result of our conditioning in the world— and I find it fairly overwhelming to wonder about all of the levels of influence we are subjected to, for better or for worse.

Share

Even my longing to be free while creating has a concept and probably an image already attached to it. If I’m searching for a ‘real self’, I can’t deny the predetermined ideas I’ve already collected about it.

Back to that idea of having preferences, if we want to understand more about ourselves and our relentless desire (that often makes us unhappy, anxious etc), we need to be curious about the source of our own preferences and this mechanism of seeking. Why? Krishnamurti proposes that our thinking instrument is made dull through the memory of and desire for an experience:

“If we do not see ourselves as we are, if we do not understand the thinker— the entity that seeks, that is perpetually asking, demanding, questioning, trying to find out, the entity that is creating the problem, the ‘I’, the self, the ego—then our thought, our search, will have no meaning. As long as one’s instrument of thinking is not clear, is conditioned, whatever one thinks is bound to be limited, narrow.”

Are any of you catching yourselves asking, how?

[…]

“It is only the mind that is capable of observing its own conditioning and being free from its conditioning—it is only such a mind that is able to have a revolution, a radical transformation, and thereby to discover that which is infinitely beyond the mind, beyond all our desires, our vanities, our pursuits. Without self-knowledge, without knowing oneself as one is—not as one would like to be, which is merely an illusion, an idealistic escape—without knowing the ways of one’s thinking, all one’s motives, one’s thoughts, ones innumerable responses, it is not possible to understand and go beyond this whole process of thinking.”

How’d your mind take that? I caught myself thinking, hmmm, okay so maybe not in this lifetime…BUT! Isn’t it incredible that a human mind is capable of examining its own habits and conditioning?

One thing I’ve noticed about my own thinking-entity is that it wants to find a safe and comfy pattern that isn’t disturbed by any thoughts, feelings or actions. However, in my mind’s rejection of all the things in daily life that don’t fit with its concept of comfort, I am left feeling unsettled, anxious and trapped or stagnant.

Entering a learning institution again has been a thrilling-daunting oscillation and my first major move to become more consistent at observing my own mind has to do with deep listening.

I’ll go into that in the next letter.

***

Here’s a poem by Alice Notley that carries much of my current feelings. It’s from her book, Culture of One.

Down on Front Street

Once again at the beginning I am down on Front Street,

by the old drugstore, the pharmacy where all healing starts.

It’s possible one begins in healing in mercy in self-kindness. Don’t

you know this? I don’t know anything. There’s a sudden change

in the weather—three signals click click click. Because

it was too hot and stark, but now we can have a cloud, the most

necessary thing: some say it’s for rain but I think not, it’s

a cloud, it’s itself, grey and luminous and sun-shielding. Do

you love it? I fear it, but I gradually wonder if I should. A vast and

silken entity, and one sees that it possesses tentacles, extensions,

silky grey arms hanging down. With a joyous look on his face a dark

man touches one of these arms— for the cloud is that close, it’s in the street;

but I’m afraid and enter the pharmacy to watch the cloud from behind

the glass wall: should I go back outside and touch it? Eventually…

***

Wishing y’all a smooth current into Autumn,

~Corrie

Last week, while in a packing frenzy to get my butt here to Victoria, BC, I came across a few pack ratty items that still amuse me.

The first is this crumpled Kleenex box (below) displaying an image of Stonehenge. Isn’t it curious that we live in a time where sacred spaces end up on snot rag dispensers? I bet the ancient people of Britain didn’t see that coming.

The second item is a scrap of paper depicting a title for a comic book created by one of the six year olds in one of my classes. I wrote exactly what he told me to—no interference on my part. You would wanna read this book, right?! My deepest apologies for not having a copy of the book to share.

Share

This last thing I’ll mention should be featured in my next ‘Books I’d Lend You’ post but you won’t be able to get your own copy until October— so maybe I’ll bring it up again later:) (I managed to snag an early self-published edition by the author).

The title is, Darby, Love… (Alive Things Mum Said to Me Before She Died) by Darby Hudson. Here’s the intro by the author— he’s a poet from Australia:

And here are just a few of my fav alive things his Mum said:

“DARBY LOVE, THE WORLD IS SO VAST, INCREDIBLE AND FULL OF WONDER, THAT’S WHY I’M CRYING. AND BECAUSE I DIDN’T PAY MY BILLS ON TIME.

[…]

DARBY LOVE, I’M LATE BECAUSE I LOST MY CAR KEYS. BUT I WASN’T EVEN FRUSTRATED. IN FACT, I WAS THRILLED! FOR A MOMENT THERE WAS NO LOGICAL EXPLANATION. IT WAS THE DIVINE MYSTERY OF THE MISSING CAR KEYS. AND THE WORLD IS LACKING IN SMALL MYSTERIES. BUT THEN I FOUND THEM IN MY CAR DOOR AND IT WAS SADLY BACK TO REALITY AND TURNING UP LATE.

[…]

DARBY LOVE, SCIENCE IS FASCINATING BUT DON’T EVER LET IT EXPLAIN THE MAGIC AWAY.

[…]

DARBY, LOVE, SOMETIMES I LIKE TO GO FOR A WANDER IN PUBLIC IN MY DRESSING GOWN. SOME PEOPLE THINK I’M LOST AND EVEN OFFER ME MONEY. BUT I FEEL LIKE ONE OF THOSE BOXERS ENTERING THE RING WHEN I HEAD OUTSIDE INTO THE WORLD. I TELL THEM, NO, I’M JUST OFF TO FEED THE BIRDS THEN WINK AND SMILE AT THEM.”

***

Alright, I’m cuttin’ it close to the wire, here. Hope all of you out there are able to savour something in the moment you’re in.

G’ day/night,

~Corrie

Next month I’ll be packing up to make a move to Victoria, BC to start an MFA (Master of Fine Arts) at UVic—suuuuuper psyched!!!

But I’m not so psyched about going through my numerous ‘collections’ and having to trim back (more like hack back with a serious machete). One thing that I stubbornly refuse to give up are my books and mags— I love them all too much and I’ve been working toward my own home library for a while now.

For years, my personal bibliotheca has taken on the form of multiple towers spaced out throughout the house— occupying floorspace, chairs, dressers, stools, side tables, etc. There isn’t a kitchen table otherwise it would be claimed by book towers.

Thankfully, my dear younger brother and his family have taken on the burden of fostering some of my stacks for the next two years, otherwise I’d probably be walling myself in to my new residence.

I’ve attempted to be ruthless when deciding what books will join me and those that will stay behind but so far the joining me pile is a truck load. This undertaking has exposed my strong feelings for particular reads (when I hold them I find myself thinking, I bet this will support my MFA research just by being near me). So I figured I might share a few of these beloved titles with you.

Killing Commendatore by Haruki Murakami.

I don’t typically have a singular favourite of anything (more like several favs with no ranking system), but anyone who knows me is aware that Haruki Murakami’s books are my all-time favs— I pretty much consider them talismans. When I read them I get a sense that some sorta tunnel has linked my unconscious mind to a much more expansive consciousness and my day to day reality seems to meld to the narrative in a way that makes everything feel like a dream…No need to try to get what I mean because I don’t really understand it myself.

The main character in Killing Commendatore is a painter and I was curious if Murakami could write about an artist with his usual keen depth and sensitivity. What can I say, he gets it.

Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathan Lethem

One of my best friends recommended this book to me and I’d happily reread it multiple times. The story is set in Brooklyn, New York in the late 90s. It’s told from the point of view of an amateur detective with Tourette's syndrome who was raised by mobsters—soooo good!

Share

Actual Air by David Berman

It’s likely that the analysis of poetry ruined poetry for many people and I definitely had developed a wariness toward it— but now I trust what Gertrude Stein once said which is, “if you enjoy it, you understand it.” And I enjoy these poems so damn much!

David Berman was also the lead singer and songwriter for a band called Silver Jews. I’m really into some of his song titles like, ‘Sometimes a Pony Gets Depressed’.

***

I was hoping to include a quote from each of these based on what I’ve underlined in them. I freely make lines, symbols and notes in all of my books under the assumption that they will always be in my library (so there’s no issue of devaluing them). But: I’ve packed these three already:(

Maybe next month…

Hope you’re all feelin’ some summer love,

~Corrie

dear creators,

Have you ever considered the value of a useless life? I know it probably sounds like a downer but worrying about being useful all the time can be a complete drag. I catch myself getting really hung-up on having purpose, direction, and continual growth…even when I’m fully aware that nature cannot sustain growth without its opposite.

One of the reasons that I love Taoist philosophy is that it points out the one-sidedness of the cultural values I was raised on and offers a perspective beyond the ‘progress’ machine we’re maxed-out in.

I’ve already mentioned the famous Taoist philosopher, Lao Tzu, but I’m also really into the more humorous and relatable writings of Chuang Tzu (~4th Century BCE). A big part of my appreciation for The Book of Chuang Tzu is its concern with life and the growth of the individual spirit and not with governing people and affairs (he was totally opposed to Confucian values of order, control and hierarchy).

Chuang Tzu says a lot about the value of the useless and exaggerates to make his point (giving us a chance to laugh at ourselves). Here’s one example (source posted at the end):

“Carpenter Shih went to Ch’i and, when he got to Crooked Shaft, he saw a serrate oak standing by the village shrine. It was broad enough to shelter several thousand oxen and measured a hundred spans around, towering above the hills. The lowest branches were eighty feet from the ground, and a dozen or so of them could have been made into boats. There were so many sightseers that the place looked like a fair, but the carpenter didn’t even glance around and went on his way without stopping.

His apprentice stood staring for a long time and then ran after Carpenter Shih and said, “Since I first took up my ax and followed you, Master, I have never seen timber as beautiful as this. But you don’t even bother to look, and go right on without stopping. Why is that?”

“Forget it—say no more!” said the carpenter. “It’s a worthless tree! Make boats out of it and they’d sink; make coffins and they’d rot in no time; make vessels and they’d break at once. Use it for doors and it would sweat sap like pine; use it for posts and the worms would eat them up. It’s not a timber tree—there’s nothing it can be used for. That’s how it got to be that old!”

After Carpenter Shih had returned home, the oak tree appeared to him in a dream and said, “What are you comparing me with? Are you comparing me with those useful trees? The cherry apple, the pear, the orange, the citron, the rest of those fructiferous trees and shrubs—as soon as their fruit is ripe, they are torn apart and subjected to abuse. Their big limbs are broken off, their little limbs are yanked around. Their utility makes life miserable for them, and so they don’t get to finish out the years Heaven gave them, but are cut off in mid-journey. They bring it on themselves—the pulling and tearing of the common mob. And it’s the same way with all other things.

As for me, I’ve been trying a long time to be of no use, and though I almost died, I’ve finally got it. This is of great use to me. If I had been of some use, would I ever have grown this large? Moreover, you and I are both of us things. What’s the point of this—things condemning things? You, a worthless man about to die—how do you know I’m a worthless tree?”

Share

Logically speaking, this idea of aiming to be useless seems absurd— if everyone was going for this, wouldn’t it be pointless and utter chaos? Well yeah, if we take it too literally.

When British philosopher, Alan Watts, discussed this topic, he said,

“These things are said by way of a kind of over-stress to correct another kind of over-stress in the opposite direction. When a Japanese scholar many years ago explained the teaching of Buddhism to me, he said something I had never heard anybody else say: that the Buddha taught, for example, that life is suffering in order to correct the wrong view that it ought to be pleasure. He said that everything is impermanent in order to correct the wrong view that reality lasts forever in time. So the idea of the Middle Way is set up in this fashion by going to one extreme in order to correct another.”

Looking out the window, just now, and seeing clouds drift along I could easily argue that they are useful (moisture bearers). But are the clouds planning out and vision-boarding their destination? Are they concerned with time? They don’t appear to be busy like we’re expected to be (all the damn time) and they serve no end other than being what they are now.

The first time I consciously experienced this liberating uselessness was in making art without any regard for it’s purpose, meaning, destination, merit, identity, origin etc. I feel most alive creating in this way and everything that needs to seems to work out. There’s humour and a light-heartedness in the contradiction of finding power in what could be taken as totally naive.

Such power is mentioned in Chapter 55 of the Tao Te Ching. Here’s one interpretation of that text:

“Those who have true te

Are like a newborn baby.

[…]

A baby is weak and supple, but his hand can grasp your finger.

He has no desire as yet, and yet he can be erect—

he can cry day and night without even getting hoarse

such is the depth of his harmony.

It’s stupid to rush around.

When you fight against yourself, it shows in your face.

But if you draw your sap from your heart

then you will be truly strong.

You will be great.”

That one line, “When you fight against yourself, it shows in your face”, really hit me. Have you ever had one of those days— you come home from work and startle yourself in the mirror? A friend of mine said she’s done this and asked herself, “When did I start looking like one of my least favourite relatives?!”

If you feel burdened by ideas of success, purpose, goals, reason, etc., maybe try on a sense of useless that sets you free from all that so that you might simply exist… as you are wherever you are.

Keep the beat,

~Corrie

Sources:

The Book of Chuang Tzu (trans. by Martin Palmer with Elizabeth Breuilly, Chang Was Ming and Jay Ramsay). Penguin Books Ltd. London, England (2006).

Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings (trans. by Burton Watson). New York: Columbia University Press (1996), pp. 59-61.

Alan Watts source in link: https://www.organism.earth/library/document/wisdom-of-the-ridiculous

dear creators,

Have you ever come across a familiar phrase or expression that hit you in a completely new way? Something you use all the time but never really think about— until it suddenly strikes you as peculiar or a host to some hidden depth?

For instance: ‘Let’s save that for the time being.’ Even though I learned this as a way to say that you’re putting something on hold, I read it one day and thought of ‘being’ as a noun— as in, who is the time-being? Also, I starting wondering about time being referring to now and how the concept of right now can be perceived as a fixed point even though it’s constantly changing.

An idiom that stood out to me more recently is ‘mind over matter.’ I usually consider this to mean using your will-power to overcome some circumstance or problem. But then I really started thinking about the mind having power over physical matter. Even the Cambridge dictionary defines mind over matter as “the power of the mind to control and influence the body and the physical world generally."

I find it funny when I hear someone say, “Oh, that’s just the placebo effect.” When someone heals themselves with the belief in some sugar pill that they thought was the real deal— how is this anything less than awesomely preternatural?! And what would it take for this ability to be common?

One of the most astonishing examples of mind over matter that I’ve come across was mentioned in Rob Brezsny’s newsletter back in December 2017 found at https://freewillastrology.com:

“CAN THE IMAGINATION SAVE US? by Susan Griffin

I heard the following story from a survivor of the holocaust: Along with many others who are crowded into the bed of a large truck, the surrealist poet Robert Desnos is being taken away from the barracks of the concentration camp where he has been held prisoner. The mood is somber; everyone knows the truck is headed for the gas chambers.

When the truck arrives at its destination, no one can speak at all; even the guards fall silent. But this silence is soon interrupted by an energetic man, Robert Desnos, who begins reading the palm of one of his fellow prisoners.

Oh, he says, I see you have a very long lifeline. And you are going to have three children. He is exuberant. And his excitement is contagious. First one man, then another, offers up his hand, and Desnos predicts longevity, more children, abundant joy.

As Desnos reads more palms, not only does the mood of the prisoners change, but also the moods of the guards. How can one explain it? Perhaps the element of surprise has planted a shadow of doubt in their minds. They are in any case so disoriented by this sudden change of mood among those they are about to kill that they are unable to go through with the executions.

So all the men, along with Desnos, are packed back onto the truck and taken back to the barracks. Desnos has saved his own life and the lives of others by using his imagination.”

Share

Obviously, an average mind (in a default mode) in such a dilemma becomes totally obsessed with what’s happening and all thoughts compound and inflate the situation to some sort of freak-out or despondent response.

Have you ever thought of your mind as having a default function that acts on its own? An ordinary human mind on a default setting seems to do whatever it wants, leaking vitality in all directions and usually drawing on unconscious dread and fear compiled over at least one lifetime (if not more). This mind just messes with our ability to face matter.

It’s easy to test this out for ourselves. Just sit alone somewhere quiet for a while and let your mind wander— then observe. How much of your mind’s activity do you feel is really you? Too often my mind get’s me totally worked up about things that don’t actually matter. In this sense, the mind creates the (problematic) matter.

Personally, if I don’t continuously cultivate personal practices to train and harness my mind to focus its energy on this moment, I’m susceptible to scatter-brain, mad distraction, extreme emotion swings and, ugh, self-deprecating/ worst-case scenario inner-chatter. Not that there’s anything wrong with letting the mind wander freely from time to time. I’m talking about the unconscious habit running baseline that’s totally exhausting.

There are endless mind wrangling practices to experiment with out there. I’ve been working with Qi Gong, Tai Chi, lucid dreaming (or dream yoga), energy work, nature strolls and yoga kriyas— but these are supplementary and complementary to my creative practice.

Drawing, painting, photography, music etc. are by far my favourite focussed attention/imagination enhancing thing. The former options are just more ideal for the thirty minute window I have before work —and they involve some much needed physical fitness.

When I think of Robert Desnos’ imagination coming through as a mind over matter move (like some sorta Jedi), I wanna know more about this ability to utilize the mind as a superpower ally. To be able to take such a leap within yourself and then getting the minds of others to leap with you without force or manipulation for the good of all…is this ability a possibility for everyone?

What better argument is there for encouraging the exercise and expansion of our imagination? Especially in a time when facing so many petty tyrants?

“There’s only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that’s your own self.” ~ Aldous Huxley

Beams,

~Corrie

dear creators,

Have any of you noticed that once you realize how creativity flows without effort, you find yourself trying not to try? (Apologies if this wasn’t on your radar until now).

When I became aware of this absurd reflex, I also started noticing when not-trying came naturally to me. Often it’s at times when I’m quietly appreciating and handling some material, as if it’s all very special somehow but in no way in particular—that’s when I discover something unfamiliar and make clear decisions without trying.

Here’s an example: One of my favourite things to make solo or with all ages of students is what I refer to as a juxtaposition collage. Sometimes collage puts a sour taste in people’s mouths because they flashback to a school project that asked them to cut out a bunch of pictures that related to one another (in a rectangular format) and paste them on a page together. That’s not the kind of collage I’m taking about.

In this case, the first thing I want to do is hunt for images that stand out to me (in all kinds of magazines or discarded books, etc.). Now this is very important: I don’t have any plan whatsoever. Why? Because then I will tryyy to find images that match my idea or theme (which may be perfectly fine in another context).

My purpose at the beginning is to form a collection based on random impulsive choices of what I’m visually attracted to. I may choose based on subject, colour, texture, who knows? I don’t think about it. Once I have my collection, I refine it by making precise cuts. I don’t want to end up with rectangular images that remain self-contained. I want to juxtapose the images— meaning, I want to put things together in a way that’s unexpected.

If I asked you, “what is a rabbit’s favourite food?”, what’s the first answer that pops in your head? There’s a good chance that it’s ‘carrots’, yeah? My point is that we’ve all been conditioned to have similar responses and this shrinks and narrows our perception (and it can be tricky to bypass habitual knowing with intentional effort). In this particular collage practice, as soon as I start sliding a variety of images around on a surface in front of me, I come across fresh combinations without needing to strain in any way.

Here are some examples from students (ages 6-12yrs) who were in my class roughly eight to ten years ago:

Share

These three samples are pretty mellow. If you end up doing this with kids, be prepared for some very silly, dark, violent and sinister content. Any rules about ‘inappropriate’ subject matter are going to put a damper on free expression that otherwise has a good chance of leading to anxiety relief and connection with others.

Out of all the processes I engage students in, this is the one where a younger crowd bonds with each other immediately. Generally speaking, children have few opportunities to explore, vent and express their constant exposure to all kinds of violence and stress around them. We all need a safe space to air out the shadows we carry around with us. Quite naturally, children tend to do this in a healthy way with humour (as in the following:)

This next one below alarms some people at first but when I asked the student about it, I was told that it’s a gun that shoots friendly arms that like to pet dogs. Such a great juxtaposition!

Though the sample below is not necessarily a juxtaposition in subject, I appreciate that it was an effortless decision to use his own body for the images he liked:

***

In my personal practice, I won’t always go through the process of making my own precise cuts. Sometimes it’s enough to take scraps of paper or magazine pages that already have cuts, and then I slide them over other pieces to see if anything aligns. I usually take photos of these and that’s the whole exercise. I may never do anything with these images. I’m simply becoming more familiar with not-trying.

(The above triptych is the same negative cut of a figure that I found and slid over other scraps three different times)

This collage format isn’t the only way I dial-down my efforting. I can usually create the necessary space so long as patience and trust are in the foreground — without these qualities I have a helluva time getting beyond trying not to try.

When I run after what I think I want,

My days are a furnace of distress and anxiety;

If I sit in my own place of patience,

What I need flows to me and without pain.

~Rumi

Beams to you all,

~Corrie

(Taking-in the autumn evening, Red Deer River, Alberta, Canada. September 2020)

dear creators,

Usually I find myself thinking of inspiration as if it’s something to acquire—like an experience that delivers a sudden pleasant amped feeling accompanied by charged expression (I’ve already written a fair bit about it here).

Lately, I’ve been recalling inspiration that felt more like a vacancy. These thoughts are probably flowing out of my constant nagging fatigue. Four hours after waking into my day, I seem to hit a wall— and I know I’m not the only one.

This sleepiness could actually be a natural way of being for this time of the year (rhythms of nature-wise) — but I also wonder if many of us have gotten so used to lugging around multiple sandbags of fear and worry that we’ve become unaware of all of the space that occupies and energy it burns through. How is inspiration supposed to make it through the clogs of our habitual inhibitions?

Let’s say we naturally collect all sorts of particular images, ideas, sounds, sensations etc. inside of us and that these have undergone a long incubation period. We have no clue what we’ve been sitting on until one of our daily obstructions is suddenly brushed aside. In this moment there’s a feeling of intense relief from our usual intolerable overload and all of the incubating material rushes through this vacancy (hopefully there’s some sorta instrument or mode of expression within reach).

The annoying thing is that our habitual inhibitions have a tendency to immediately re-form. It’s like standing in a swimming pool and parting the surface of the water with your arms to watch it quickly fill back in. I really appreciate how the vacancies show up by chance but is it possible to at least intentionally harness the occasional sea-parting?

I’ve mentioned the influence of mood, relaxation and not-knowing in several letters and I also wrote about the bliss that a landscape can offer us. Have you ever felt some relief while staring up at a clear starry sky or out across an open field or vast body of water? Can you recall an ‘Aha!’ at such a time?

(West facing sunrise from my morning commute collection. 2019.)

Last week a friend told me about this article in Scientific American: The Brain Science of Elusive ‘Aha! Moments’; What happens in your mind when insight strikes? I consider insight and creativity to be in the same fam so I wasn’t surprised to be familiar with most of the scientific discoveries mentioned here. I appreciate that I was able to come to the same realizations through my creative practice—even if I don’t ever know what’s going on in my brain!

[I want to make a note that I’m not sharing this science as some way of backing my own personal research. I’m really curious about the field of science but I don’t look to it to necessarily prove anything that I’m interested in.]

This particular article is comparing insight to analytical thinking processes and tells us that,

“Analytical problem-solving recruits areas of the brain involved in “executive” processes such as “working” memory that rely on the brain’s frontal lobes. Virtually everyone can use either insightful or analytical methods, but many people tend to use one rather than the other.”

In one of the studies mentioned, it was discovered that,

“The subjects who relied mostly on insight had greater resting-state activity at the back of the brain, whereas the analytical subjects had greater activity in frontal areas. The frontal lobes, the seat of a person’s executive processes, organize activity in the rest of the brain. These executive processes enable people to think in a focused and strategic way, but they can also curb creativity by limiting thought to straightforward plans, just as a horse’s blinders block out distractions that would lead it to meander from its path. When frontal lobe activity is relatively low, as it was for the insightful subjects, posterior areas can be disinhibited and “go rogue,” sometimes resulting in aha! moments.”

Share

I can only assume that someone reading this would wonder about being an analytical thinker or an insightful one. Even if we identify with one more than the other, I like to think we could all find a balance. In my teaching experience, people generally lean toward analytical-thinking (and some with considerable pride). I can’t help wondering if this one-sidedness is a person’s nature or something predominantly conditioned through experience and formal education.

Curiously, the article above makes a correlation between our mood and problem-solving style:

“In a 2009 study led by Karuna Subramaniam, then a doctoral student in Beeman’s lab at Northwestern University, researchers found that participants who reported feeling more positive solved more puzzles by insight, whereas those who reported greater anxiety solved more puzzles analytically.”

Despite how we might identify with or feel limited by our thinking processes, I want to get back to my question: is it possible to intentionally create a vacancy or absence from our habitual burden-state for inspiration/insight? This article acknowledges the benefit of an open-space:

“When you are in a large room or the great outdoors—under a starry sky, as Morgan was—your attention expands to take in the large space. That broadened awareness shifts the mind toward considering the whole rather than the parts, thereby enhancing insightful thinking. Filtering out the world around you can have a similar effect: aha! moments are often preceded by eye blinks and looking away from a problem to reduce distractions. People solve more thinking problems when they close their eyes. In contrast, objects that grab attention will narrow your focus on details and induce you to think analytically.”

(Love this expanse at Dinosaur Provincial Park, Alberta, Canada. September 2019.)

Speaking of expanses, while at art school I became keenly aware of how much I love working alone in a large open area. I would book an entire classroom to myself in the late evening and spread all my materials and tools throughout the space. Sometimes I would be working on something pretty large-scale and other times I would sit in the middle of the floor to tinker with smaller things.

Until now I didn’t think about this preference as being integral to the expansion of my practice. I had only considered all the wandering I had done with my dog, Sadie-Pony, and how many things ‘clicked’ on these strolls.

(With the Pony in Moab, Utah, USA. 2008.)

Acknowledging the complexity of every individual out there, I recommend whittling out some solitary time to take-in a large expanse. Unless that terrifies you. In that case— maybe part some water with your hands in the bathtub.

This may not be a gateway for everyone but it’s what I lean into when I catch myself hunting for inspiration and come up empty handed. At these times, I’m banking on a vacancy.

***

A song that just came to mind— from my favourite songwriter, Björk:

ALL IS FULL OF LOVE

You'll be given love
You'll be taken care of
You'll be given love
You have to trust it

Maybe not from the sources
You have poured yours
Maybe not from the directions
You are staring at

Twist your head around
It's all around you
All is full of love
All around you

All is full of love
You just ain't receiving
All is full of love
Your phone is off the hook
All is full of love
Your doors are all shut
All is full of love

All is full of love, all is full of love
All is full of love, all is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love, all is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love

Warmthness,

~Corrie

~Hamlet Act II Scene II

dear creators,

“Oh, no, this isn’t anything good— I’m just messing around!”

Have you ever had such a feeling or response when someone checks out something you’re working on— especially when you don’t really know what you’re doing? For whatever reason, it’s common to feel the need to be dismissive and apologetic for our creative investigations/impulsive expressions. I wonder when this belittling ego reflex manifests in each of us (and if anyone is able to completely dodge it)?

I’ll admit that I sincerely intend to bring this feeling/response out front and centre in all of my classes, so I get to hear it from students a lot. I do this by offering very little structure, few steps, and never specific results. When learning something new it really helps to be observant— and I’ve noticed we are less observant when we have preconceived ideas.

Without a prescribed structure, I encourage playful interaction with a medium while calmly noticing its nature without a goal in mind. It’s much like happening upon the scene of a toddler halting in the middle of a puddle, then squatting down to look at the water while they drag their finger along its surface. Would you be expecting a masterful execution of something in the water? Now picture the child looking up at you and saying: “Oh, no, this isn’t supposed to be anything— I’m just playing around!”

This is the feeling I get when I witness my students getting to know their medium and I take in their flustered self-conscious apologies for a naturally unfolding experience. It says a lot that we feel compelled to pardon the results of our sincere creative research that comes through the difficult practice of patience and surrender.

Just to be clear, I’m not saying that I see all of my students as toddlers— not in a negative way. What I mean is, I’m hoping to offer space for everyone to be completely present without ego interference; a consciousness we once embodied when we were too young to know any different.

This isn’t the only path to cultivating creative expression but it’s my favourite and the most unhinged from external forces. Internal forces, however, will need to be faced head-on. This is a route that requires a meandering saunter and many pauses. If you’ve ever gone for stroll with a toddler or an elder dog, you know what I’m talking about. Imagine having a clear destination in a tight time-frame with either of those and I’m sure you can literally taste the frustration that would go along with that.

Share

Expression that isn’t reaching for anything in any particular time frame allows for a loss of self (or self-consciousness) and that absence leaves more space for what is commonly recognized as being in the flow. This sweet spot isn’t necessarily gonna generate perceived productive results and may seem totally pointless based on existing ideas, standards, plans, etc.— one reason why our egos feel the need to be sorry for it.

(Could’ve watched my nephew’s unapologetic creative flow for hours. Like watching the sky or the ocean…)

I’m currently reading an extraordinary collection of Zen journals and letters by Maura “Soshin’ O’Halloran called, Pure Heart, Enlightened Mind. Many times she expresses something that I recognize through my own creative practice. Like when she mentions a feeling of luminosity…

“This morning I read Dogen’s commentary on Gensha’s ‘one bright pearl.’ During zazen I kept repeating, “The entire universe is one bright pearl.” I felt luminous. Everything really was a divine light. Couldn’t help smiling. If that had been a koan, I’d have to say “There is no pearl, no universe, only BRIGHT.”

***

As always, I feel as though I’m reframing the same themes and concepts here in hopes that at least one of these notes will ring out some truth or open a field for somebody.<3

Anyone catch that planetary alignment this eve?

Warmthness,

~Corrie

(© Corrie Hamm 2023)

dear creators,

I always have a mass clutter of files on my desktop— I know it’s not great for my laptop but it’s comforting see them all suspended in this window.

One of these files is titled, Words I Dig Most and it’s next to a file called, Words I Dig. As you might imagine, they both contain a collection of something said or written that I’m totally drawn to. After the first file grew to one hundred plus pages, I decided to select the quotes that stood out more to me— hence the need for a ‘most’ document.

I was revisiting this cherished gatherance recently and came across a selection from The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying:

1) I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost…I am hopeless. It isn’t my fault. It takes forever to find a way out.

2) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I’m in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

3) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in… It’s a habit.
My eyes are open,
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

4) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

5) I walk down another street.

Share

Entering this fresh orbit of 2025, I can’t help welcoming these words and forming a strong intent to walk down another street. This may not be in a physical sense—I don’t necessarily need to alter the material scene of my day-to-day (though I’d be really into that!).

If I wanna consider the above excerpt in an internal well-being sense, I narrow in on the “it isn’t my fault/ it is my fault". The translator’s choice of the word ‘fault’ doesn’t seem the most ideal— we could substitute in responsibility (or even, response-ability).

Taking this to my inner-world day-to-day, I’ve committed to not blaming anyone or anything for my present reality (whatever that looks and feels like, it either is-what-it-is or it’s something I get to play/work with).

So far, I’ve managed to walk around a few deep holes while tripping into others of varying depths. Even new streets are bound to have holes. I accept that this side-stepping is eternally on-going… unless I happen to bump into enlightenment.

***

Here’s a wish for you all in the words of Jay-Z:

"Survive the drought; I wish you well. How sick am I? I wish you health; I wish you wheels; I wish you wealth; I wish you insight, so you can see for yourself."

Beams and warmthness,

~Corrie