Showing posts with label cross-training. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cross-training. Show all posts

Monday, June 30, 2008

My Beaded Fish: A Writer's Cross-Training

Last week, during my stay-home-and-clean-up-the-house vacation, I finished this little craft project that I'd let sit for about two years.

Because of popular demand (one request, thank you, Mamie) I'm displaying it here. I mean for it to go outdoors, hanging from a tree near our little "farm" pond. But I hung it up overnight in front of the curtains in the den, and decided for the moment that I like it there.

She's a quarter of an inch shy of three feet long. This kind of goofy free-hand playful handiwork does a lot for loosening up my creative juices for writing. It's very helpful to me to switch gears so radically: to place little physical widgens of color rather than words.

And to not have to meet any standards of quality or of market limitations. Very freeing. It's also nice to literally tie up some loose threads.







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Monday, May 05, 2008

How to Expand Your Mind: Doodle




I'm a near-constant doodler. Now I discover that there's neurological evidence that doodling helps us think, solve problems, listen better, and keep better perspective. All of which helps out a lot when one is practicing boldness, creativity, and courage.

First, I discovered at White Cafe a review of a book, Keys to Drawing with Imagination by Bert Dodson. "Best of all, though (the book) contains delightful observations and insights, it isn't drowning in advice, but is mainly focused on fun, free-ranging exercises that plunge you straight into a world of creative experimentation."

The amazing doodly drawings resulting from these at White Cafe led me to go looking for any info on what doodling is coming from and leading to. What I learned in a nutshell in the 9 minute video, doodling: langage, gesture, and cognition, is: there's evidence that speech came, at least in part, from gesture rather than primitive vocalizations. And doodling is gesture. It uses motor skills.

The idea, simplistically put, is that doodling contacts and uses more of our own native creativity and communication equipment. In my experience, it just calms me down, allows for focus.

My first memory is of doodling. I was a toddler of late two or early three, out in the backyard squatting on a bare patch of dirt. I was wearing a sunsuit with a ruffly butt and making marks in the dirt with one wobbly little finger, the other arm held out in the air like an outrigger for balance. My mother and a neighbor were standing near.

I've always wondered why I remembered that. Now I have some support for the importance of making marks in dirt.

From the blog, Consider This: "Doodling taught me to say yes to the spontaneous me, no matter how dumb or clumsy the line was on the paper. By allowing one line to lead to another, by letting the drawing inform me instead of the other way around, I came to appreciate a vastly wider horizon of possibility for me and my world."

A few of my recent doodles: the intricate one below was drawn while listening to a novelist read a chapter of her work aloud for critical feedback, the orange gingerbread angel above is my notes of feedback on my own work, and the lines and circles were done in a class I was teaching while the participants are writing for a few minutes. Definitely three different states of mind.

Drawing the crowded one made it so much easier for me to listen to the reader. I felt as if all distracting thoughts were channeled onto the page and did not interrupt me.

Once many years ago, I wrote an article on root doctors for Sepia magazine. One of the healers I interviewed drew circles and spirals and swoops the entire time we were talking. It was entrancing for both of us.

It was pretty bold of the man to do it. I've found that in face-to-face conversations with clients, they sometimes look alarmed if I take up my artwork. Office supplies stores should sell signs that say Doodling Helps Me Think. Or maybe I could simply speak up.




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Monday, March 31, 2008

Cross-Training

If you've been practicing and teaching your art for a while, it's helpful to occasionally become a beginner at something else. This experience refreshes the practitioner's imagination and renews the teacher's empathy.

Years ago, I heard novelist Lee Smith say to a writing workshop group: if you're new at this, I have some sense of how you feel; I just started taking a tap dance class.

Yesterday, I was a construction assistant to my brother Franc Payne, who is renovating a house in Atlantic, NC, on one of the huge sounds behind the Outer Banks.

I'd never done this kind of work before. (The only thing I ever built before was, tellingly, a lectern when I was about nine, and it was wobbly.)

I found I was pretty fair at carrying lumber in and hauling old bricks out, a bit tentative on subtracting fractions fast in my head, and quite wary of the nail gun and the electric saw.

In addition to having had a wonderful day-long visit with my brother, I return to my desk today well-exercised and with a wider view of the world...and probably more patience with the fact that in the arts we're always beginners.



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Wednesday, August 29, 2007

My Artcar!

Nothing helps my writing like dabbling playfully in some other art form. This is the grandest scale on which I've dabbled. It's major cross-training.

For years, I've imagined having a car that's crawling with blue morning glories. I'm happy as can be with the outcome.

This portait of me and my personally hand-decorated machine was shot in a parking lot after a Mexican lunch by a friend with a car phone who says she shoots much better pictures with her real camera.

In addition to the value of the cross-training--and of course the sheer beauty of the artwork--there's an encouraging sense of satisfaction about setting off on an outrageous little undertaking like my Morning Glory Project and completing it. (Well, almost completing it: I still have the other side to do...and the clear coat. But I couldn't wait to show you.)