If we thought of action as nutrition, what would you crave? I get bored easily, and I find myself longing for eccentric complexity, novelty, anything outside the lines. My mind vibrates when I read something weird, gothic, or just unusual. My body cries out for movement that isn't walking or biking, something outside normal movement patterns. Not only do I want to take part in these experiences, I want to be a provider of these peculiar, whimsical steps off the proverbial rails.
Last month, I had the joy of completing a portion of something I have pined over for years. Three weeks were spent under the tutelage of the staff at Steadfast and True Yoga, a studio in Nashville, in pursuit of my 200 hour training on the path to become certified to teach yoga. I've taught in the past, uncertified, but I found myself in a place where I no longer felt that was an acceptable option. I was increasingly aware of the disservice it was to myself and others, especially my fellow practitioners. My choice of studio was intentional: Gillian has an amazing reputation as a teacher and life-long practitioner. She's ridiculously creative, has a strong alignment-based background, and has studied with some of the best. The staff at the studio are a driving force in a mission to provide - in my opinion - a truly unparalleled experience. The daily drives to and from Nashville were a challenge, but it was a worthy sacrifice for the level of education I received, the chance to learn more about myself, the opportunity to find depth of thought and character.
Throughout training, Gillie reminded us we would, "... Teach like our teachers until we learned how to teach like ourselves."
I long for depth, so I found a teacher who offered depth.
I long for eccentricity, so I read authors who write the eccentric.
I long for complexity, so I gravitate to designers who create complexly.
I long for visual challenge, so I adore artists who don't take the easy route.
When we visited family in Providence over the summer, we visited the HP Lovecraft Book Store in the Arcade, a shop totally dedicated to the weird and eccentric. I left with a collection of short stories by Shirley Jackson tucked under my arm, and as I read through them, I see a mirror image of my own short stories. I only read The Lottery in high school, and nothing since, so I'm certainly not lifting her style or words to use as my own. But Shirley has been a good teacher, showing me new ways to hone my craft, to stretch the truth, to catch the reader by surprise and force them to squirm uncomfortably when faced with the secrets we all stash away in the vault of our stomachs. Anne Lamott or Twyla Tharpe tell of a writer who learned to write well by copying, word for word, the works of the classics. He emerged from his experience a better writer. Obviously. How could he not? This is why as a writer, I read. This is why my favorite affirmation as a writer is this: When the reader within me unites with the writer within me, great things happen.
The Vampire's Wife is my current point of high design obsession. Susie Cave makes stunning, ethereal pieces, magical dresses, which are way outside what I could ever afford. I recently began the process of draping something similar for myself though. I can only hope what I make is a worthy homage to her beautiful dresses. Is it a copy-cat move? Yes. But I am learning about draping and form and function. From this experiment, I can apply the knowledge I gain to ideas of my own.
In high school art, we copied a particular piece of art three times over with different methods and media. Now I understand what we were doing all those years ago (Penny, I hope you are reading this!): We were learning how to create, from the masters. Reapproaching the Mona Lisa three times over didn't teach me how to copy a DaVinci well - oh no, not at all! The process taught me about shape and form and how to build the human face and hands from nothing but a pencil, how to breathe life into a sheet of paper with oil pastels, how to craft humanity from paint.
It all makes sense now, actually. We can learn by studying the masters of our craft. What I realize now is that it's okay if my work resembles these other sources for a while, as long as I give credit where it is due. In fact, it's okay if I am in that place for a while. I know I won't stay there. The more I deep dive here, the deeper my own reservoir can extend. As I learn, I am finding my own creative voice.
