The days (and nights) are finally a little cooler, and I am feeling into that more relaxed state my body naturally feels in autumn and winter. Much more alive. Much less under attack (the heat, oh, the heat and my body do not get along). I am made for long, cool, higher altitude, arboreal mountainous weather, and that is the place my mind wanders to when in the throes of wish-craft. In winter, in cooler weather, I can add layers to keep warm, if I need to.
In summer, there are no more layers to remove, and I am in perpetual wilt.
And I realised as I was up well past midnight last night with pencils in hand, furiously getting down a fleeting idea before she tumbleweeded (I am sure that is a word, right?) off to someone else, that everything is lived in layers, really.
That the best, deepest, most personal, most meaningful things are lived in layers.
That my drawings come together in layers.
That my business is built in layers.
That my compassion and courage and curiosity is layered one on top of the other, and built like a lasagne forever moving forward, in layers.
That a tree's girth is added to in layers, that the soil, the humus, is deepened and made more nutritious in layers.
That the fur of a wolf is layered in different ways depending on the season.
That our skin is shed in layers.
That we learn - about this wild world, and about ourselves - in layers.
I have had to peel back some layers recently, as I examined myself to understand more.
Sometimes they stuck a bit, were a little painful, or a lot, but I replaced them with gentleness, knowing that the new layers do not just cover them, unless I will it so, but that they soften them. That they become a part of my own life humus, my own fertile soil for growth, for unfurling, for rooting down.
That no situation, no layer, is always ideal, but that it just is.
I can work on acceptance and surrender without gaslighting or belittling, and plot my own path forward.
Lovingly lay down new layers.
I definitely feel like this year I have been adding some lovely layers, to myself, to my creative practice, to my thoughtfulness, to my practice of loving kindness, to my business, to my life. And I am looking forward to the layers to come, so that I can plunge my grateful hands deep into them like thick fur, like fertile soil, like the black between stars.
I am feeling philosophical today. It must be a day ending in ‘y’. Perhaps it is productive procrastination. Perhaps I need a nap (that is always true, yet never seems to happen). Perhaps I need to pick up a brush and continue with the idea I had last night, to sculpt and move pigment to my will, and the will of the muses, and just create. Yes, I think that is probably it.
Life isn’t always easy - and neither is making art.
But it happens in layers, loving layers that can be tended and cared for and built upon each other and savoured. That is my wish for us today, that we find beauty in the layered beingness that we are, that our creativity is - whatever that looks like - and that we can surrender to and celebrate our multi-layered selves and each other and this wild world of which we are a part.
The rain is coming down (in layers). More rain than we have had for quite a while.
The late baby corella are drenched - their layers of feathers still with some baby down, not yet waterproof like the adults. I would wrap them in a towel and sing them to sleep, only they would squawk in indignation. My role is to provide them seed treats, and nothing else.
There are layers of sunflower husks littering my lawn.
Take moment, close your eyes, and listen - in layers. What is near, what is far. My heart beats, slow and steady. There is a little whistle to my deep in breath. The rain is falling steadily, straight down, the sky’s white noise. The galah are rousing, probably at a corella. There is the distant traffic. A distant currawong. Movement next door.
Layers.
Do you like apple and sultana sandwiches?
(That was a hard left turn wasn’t it?)
But I do! Like apple and sultana sandwiches that is. It is something my mum used to make me when I was growing up, but which I have rarely had as an adult. Layers of sliced apple and sweet sultanas between two layers of bread. I have the ingredients, and so I think that will be what is for lunch. And then? Then I am going to put out some luscious oil paints, and start creating. In layers.
Walk gently, dear one. There are so many wonderful layers still to come.
Today is the last day The Wild Sketchbook is open until September.
If you want to come and create - in many layers - with us, doors close at midnight my time tonight (about ten hours from when I send this). You would be so very welcome.
lovely Natalie. as you turn toward the dark, i live in the north, where we turn toward more and more light. i miss the long dark evenings, so a balm reading your post. and i know where i live in the pacific nw we need all the seasons, so appreciating the raucous bird songs of spring and the dogwood blossoms freshly opening up.
Thank you lovely. Reading this was good for my soul. 🍃