Friday, May 11, 2012

And There Were Lilacs

bradbury's, 2012
lilac, 2012
gone-to-seed, 2012
Yesterday I saw a park dotted with gone-to-seed dandelions.  The small park was wedged between a quiet street and a lake.  It was a strange shallow lake.  Minnows swam in and out of blobs of funky moss as they lethargically swayed.  It was no Lake Michigan.

As someone I know seeks nature when she travels, it seems I seek liquid--large bodies of water, and the caffeinated sort served in cafes.  They are the small references to home I need when I miss my kitchen and long for fresh pajamas.

When one of these cafes has a view of a lake, serves good espresso, and just happens to have a buckwheat crepe with rhubarb compote on the menu, well, there is a moment of bliss.  Until some very loud women sit beside me and I know my moment has expired, and my attempts to drift back into my novel will be futile.

I take a slow walk and explore the warm tree lined streets.

I am resilient.  My optimism returns, and I am off to another cafe, one housed in a beautiful old hotel.  The espresso is not as good, but there is a tall ceiling, large windows, and Limonata.  It seems the sort of space where everyone can do as they please and still peacefully coexist.  I expect the noise to disappear into the ceiling, but it does not.  It passes through the tiles on the second floor and settles into the dark wood floor below.  I write.  It is the perfect place, for a while, but it does not last.

I have found many people to be much louder than I'd like, and my findings are not geographically specific, but perhaps magnified when away from home.

This sort of travel, jumps versus long stays, stunts my writing.  I allow it so I can be with someone I love.  I adjust to these setbacks and hope when I am old I will not regret these days, but look back and think nice balance, good choices.

Although it slows me down, the distance from my work permits a return with fresh eyes and a less subjective emotional attachment.  It reminds me of Hank.  I was a teaching assistant for him while I was in graduate school.  Hank, known to most as Henry, is a great photographer.  He is also an engaging conversationalist, when he is in the mood.  I learned some interesting things about him during our time together.

Hank makes photographs every single day, but once he prints his contact sheets he files them away and does not look at them again for at least a year.  He believes the time gives him distance and the ability to view the work more critically.  He also told me that he angled for allowing the whole book, museum, gallery craziness to enter his life only once per decade.  He found it a distraction.

Hank can be very charismatic, but he is an artist, not a performer.  It is the making that he loves most.  He has his priorities in order.

And there were lilacs in the church courtyard.

20 comments:

  1. I find so much goodness in this post that I don't know where to start. Perhaps with the fact that we both love liquids in the form of lakes and coffee and also long for fresh pyjamas. When I come home in the evening I like to change out out my work clothes straight away into them. I've also been thinking of lilacs a lot recently. I'm often struck by how hard it is to find a qiet place to sit or read. It's not that I expect silence but even to concentrate on my book in the train, I struggle to block out phones, loud music, chatter. Still, I admire your perseverance in seeking out these quiet moments and in moving on when the noise gets too much. I have long admired Henry's photos so it's amazing you know him personally. I think you seem to have found a good balance so keep doing it!

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    1. Emily, I am not surprised that you understand so much of what I'm saying here. From what I can tell, we have many similar interests. Home, pajamas, quiet, good books, coffee, even lilacs... I like when there are quiet sections on ferries and quiet cars on trains, and when people follow those quiet rules.

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  2. These are two themes I've been pondering the past few days - what one is drawn to while traveling, and figuring out priorities as a creative person. As another person who seeks quiet and feels bombarded by so many things, this post spoke to me.

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    1. Hi, Liz. Worthy themes for contemplation, and worth revisiting every so often.

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  3. "He is an artist, not a performer", the sense of fulfillment when the creative urge has been satisfied, in a way that is authentic and not compromised by external pressures. I see that in your writing.

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  4. I love this. Love the solitude. I am always seeking a quiet corner whether I am at home, or away from home. I enjoyed the telling of moments on your journey.

    And how fortunate to have worked along side "Hank". Travel (where ever it may be) feels similar to putting away a contact sheets for a year. Happy cardinal spotting...x

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    1. Hi, Janis. That cardinal flew by just when I needed it. I love such moments...

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  5. Again, I find myself reading in between the lines. And yearning for your lilacs as the delayed sun has kept them back for now. Hope you find more hidden (quiet) corners and coffee.

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    1. Hello, Kate. I do hope you see lilacs in the near future, at least a little sun.

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  6. I appreciate Wessel's wisdom---create, set aside for a time, and revisit with fresh eyes. Also,I appreciate his ability to create while keeping the distraction of a show/book, at least for a time, at bay.

    External forces, as you found, can really interfere with the creative flow.

    An artist friend of mine wonders what her work would look like, if she simply painted with no distraction, in the knowledge that no one would ever see the work. She believes that it is impossible for her to ever find out. But it is worth contemplating.

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    1. Hi, Nancy. Yes, it is interesting to contemplate such things. After art school I wanted to see what I'd make if I completely cut myself off from galleries, museums, art publications, etc.

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  7. Finding a quite spot (outside as well as inside of us) to create is a continuous amd adventurous search. I relate to your hunt for the perfect spot during travels, it heightens ones experience and enhances our memories, drowning all the noise around us into peaceful present-ness

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    1. Ah, yes, Amelia. So true. It is all in a quest to be present.

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  8. Well said, Denise. I think we have a lot in common.

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    1. I'll take that as a lovely compliment. Thanks, Lecia.

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  9. lilacs are such special flowers. they sink straight to the heart. they smell divine. and yes to finding quiet places in public to write. it's a craft in itself i think. but mostly i love this line, "I adjust to these setbacks and hope when I am old I will not regret these days, but look back and think nice balance, good choices."

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    1. Hi, Katrina. I think a big part of my lilac love is linked to having them in our yard when I was a little girl. I hope that line works out for me.

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  10. I think Hank's philosophy is perfect. I seek out nature because of those loud people...and when I find them in nature as well, it causes a rage like not very many thing do.

    Lilacs are my very favorite part of spring.

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    1. Oh, Rachel. I totally agree. It's even worse in nature.

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