Imagine marking summer’s end by walking into the still ocean at dawn with group of friends all dressed in white gowns, skirts floating on the gentle waters, arms full of flowers to offer to the sea. Years back, each ritual point of the calendar year offered my friends and me the opportunity to whip up some pomp and really dig into the mysteries—the solstices, the equinoxes, the cross-quarters, and any point between. Inevitably, however, these occasions were more satisfying in concept than they were in practice, for example when standing in gravel next to the road, awkwardly yanking my dress over a swimsuit under a chill gray sky when the Maine water was frigid and our group of tired moms was in a low mood, with hurt feelings festering over who’d been invited and who hadn’t and why.
By contrast, the most successful and satisfying of these calendrical celebrations I’ve undertaken solo, toting a basket full of everything I might need with no idea what I’m going to do or where I’m headed. Off I go, into the woods, along the stream, or I jump in the car and end up elsewhere. In advance, I’ve kept an eye on the calendar and the weather. I’ve felt into what’s called for in terms of the tone of my response to the moment, and I’ve blocked out the time in my day. Then, at the last minute, I’ve stalked through the house and snapped up whatever catches my eye, tossing it into my big basket—a couple yards of pretty red silk ribbon, a fresh sprig or two of rosemary, a nice bar of chocolate, a xylophone, a little pouch of corn flour (which is nice for making drawings on the ground, leaving only a light trace.) A ceremony is pre-ordained. A ritual can be improvised. There might be a general structure or intention to guide it, but the specifics can remain spontaneous.
All of this mirrors how I see creativity more widely these days. Creativity is always a response, a reflection to the wider world. What I see in my work, and what I’ve noted in my adventures as a ritualist, is that at its most successful creativity is curiously informed by its habitat. I like that word, ‘habitat,’ emphasizing the nurturing ready-at-hand and generous nature of a space that’s filled with sundry sound makers, dried flowers, various sweets, decorative trimmings and sticks of incense. Whatever the means-whereby the heart is inspired and art is created…I think of Joseph Cornell’s house in Queens filled with doll parts and paste gems and cigar boxes, or Hiroshi Sugimoto, re-stocking his studio’s cabinet of curiosities with meteorites and mechanical toys each month. I remember being struck visiting Donald Judd’s studio library in Marfa by all the evocative objects found there, totems and fossils tucked into the bookshelves.
While an ‘environment’ can be a surroundings in which living and/or non-living beings are found, a ‘habitat’ always has life in it. The word has its proto-indo-European roots in giving and receiving, “to have or possess,” and encompassing warm words like “hand” and “hold.”
This year, as I cast an eye around my space, my habitat, thinking about what I might toss into my basket on Thursday, which marks Candlemas (or Imbolc), the mid-way point between the winter solstice and spring equinox, I’m feeling into the thrill of this way of uncovering a deeper relationship with an idea through spontaneous practice.
So here are some thoughts for you to respond to: How is your creative practice a response? When you encapsulate an idea and pursue it to its envisioned ends, is it as enlivening as discovering and revealing something new by reacting to your habitat, whether in the studio or the world at large?
Happy first and still-imperceptible movements of Spring. XJ
Beuys in Response
I could write for a long time about Joseph Beuys, but I’ll confine my reflections to his haunting work Scala Napoletana, at the Tate in London. Created the year before he died, the piece was inspired by a ladder he saw while recovering from illness in Capri in 1985. The next year he bought a similar ladder from a landlord in Amalfi and pinned it down with two lead weights, which make it seem as if the ladder is straining to take flight.
The snow lies heavy today in the Catskills. Spring is still a mystery.
I really appreciate this idea of spontaneity and habitat around rituals, particularly because I find myself more devoid of time than ever with a baby. But also, although I love the idea of ritual in community and still want to pursue it when it is possible, I feel like I have permission to do this individually however I want or feel it. Coming immediately to mind is our dried out Christmas tree that I unceremoniously threw out the front door a few weeks ago when I had exactly 15 minutes to disassemble it. What a tidy, small bonfire it would make, maybe with some of the leftover herbs that were gifted to me postpartum sprinkled in. I’m sure I could find some meaning in that. Thanks for the inspiration. xo Bethany
Beautiful...I always wonder where you go with that basket...and what you do when you get there!