We meet for a 'double held-spot' venture and set out through the snowy streets of Montreal.
She will find a subject to draw that has meaning for me and I will do the same for her.
Before we start, I tell her I'm looking for insight into my work, specifically how best I can connect with it.
"What do you mean by connect?" she asks.
I realize it can sound like I don't feel connected to my work. That's not it at all. I explain that what I mean is a desire to connect my work with others - to have them see it, relate to it and hopefully get something out of it for themselves. But I worry that I'm witholding.
Again, she asks what I mean.
I tell her I'm holding back somewhere. As much as I want to bring the work out there, I can feel another part of me closing off, resisting.
We continue driving through the suburban streets. There's a build-up of frost on the windshield. The sky is turning a darker shade as the February sun begins to set. We each keep an eye out for something to draw that will be for the other.
I start to feel that what I'm looking for will be inside somewhere, but Caroline keeps checking the surrounding streets.
"I think I see something." she says looking out the passenger window.
I pull over to the side of the road. There is only one prominent object in an otherwise desolate view. My attention is drawn to this solitary park bench half-covered in snow.
"That bench - it's almost like it has human qualities." Caroline says. "It looks tired."
I see what she means.
"But there's a strength in it." she goes on. "I like how it's tired and yet it remains strong."
She decides to draw the bench and she gives the drawing to me.
Later, inside a nearby library, I search for a subject to draw for Caroline. There are display cases of marine life in the far corner. I'm sure there is a subject to draw in this collection of shelled creatures collected from distant seas. They seem even more strange and exotic after our drive through the darkening streets of a frozen Montreal winter.My eye immediately zooms into one bold shape. Yes, this one is for Caroline.
I finish my drawing and, finding ourselves surrounded by books, I suggest we find quotes to go with our drawings.Caroline likes this idea but she's unsure how to find one. She flips through one book after another.
"How much of this is arbitrary?" she wonders.
It does seem overwhelming. There is an endless assortment of titles stacked along the library shelves but I tell her to let go to the process, to let herself be guided to the "right" quote.
My belief is that there is a special interplay going on behind-the-scenes- an unseen interaction with something beyond our ordinary perceptions. I see the whole process as an education - a way to find meaning and growth in areas that need healing.
She's still uncertain of it all. After the fifth book, she finally decides on a poem she thinks is the one and inscribes it next to the drawing.
(poem by Louis Dudek)
***
Caroline has since continued on with her travels.
I think about the drawing of the bench she left with me.
I'm glad to have it. It gives me a feeling - of one day in the future, sitting on that bench, in the full light of the sun, the snow having melted away, the earth fresh with grass under my feet...
and being closer to answering the question posed by the poet:
"How can we see nature plain,
Who live in self-created pleasure,
self-created pain?"
Who live in self-created pleasure,
self-created pain?"
