Earlier this week I drew a person with very long arms holding onto hundreds of strawberries, and since then I have been unable to stop thinking about all of the other things a person could hold onto if they had exceptionally, unrealistically long arms. Given the never-ending nature of such a list—entire continents, oceans, more feelings than advisable, quarries, the mistakes of the world—I became tired, and subsequently wondered what it would be like if instead of spending all of our time holding onto things, we put them down.
A short time later I decided that yes, this was definitely a good idea, to be putting things down. Since that decision, things I personally have put down include: the idea that I am somehow responsible for everything, expectations to do with productivity and projects that make my eyes twitch, the worry that I will run clean out of creative thoughts, unaccountably large fears for family safety, and a constant, ravenous concern for the planet.
The point isn't to necessarily figure all of the things you are carrying out, or dismiss them, it is simply to put them down, so that you might have more energy to continue with the basic things of life, the ones that seem precarious or precious at the moment, like remembering to eat lunch and actually getting dressed in the morning, or finding any desire to have ideas about the coming days and weeks—even if we do not know what they will contain on a larger scale, working within a smaller, personal scale can feel soft, safe.
It makes me think about playing fetch with a dog, a dog who is exceedingly reluctant to give the tennis ball back to you, how sometimes the dog will oblige if you say more slowly and more clearly: Put. it. down.
WORK-RELATED NEWS:
Can be summed up by Ursula K. Le Guin:
'Artists are lucky to have a form in which to express themselves; there is a sacredness about that, and a terrific sense of responsibility. We’ve got to do it right. Why do we have to do it right? Because that’s the whole point: either it’s right or it’s all wrong.
One of the functions of art is to give people the words to know their own experience. There are always areas of vast silence in any culture, and part of an artist’s job is to go into those areas and come back from the silence with something to say.'
THIS WEEK I FELL IN LOVE WITH:
Photographs by Berlin-based Max Zerrahn, many of which pay attention to more ordinary moments, very much the sort of moments that I feel can be important to notice. When talking to the online publication IGNANT about his first photo book Snake Legs, he shared:
"I have always had a fascination with off-moments, the traces, and the subtle irritations."
Which I have enjoyed thinking about—the significance of off-moments as much other moments, as much as on-moments.
How do the flowers know it’s night-time?
Why is the moon everywhere?
Sara Baume, A Line Made by Walking
(The end.)
Copyright © 2020 Ella Frances Sanders, All rights reserved.