November Happiness — a Modest Achievement

AND. . . . it’s November. . .

Big doings on the horizon, and let’s all hope they bring positive change to see the year out. . .

The calendar’s turned a page; the clock’s turned back an hour; I’ve got all the sweaters out of their boxes and never go out without a jacket/coat, gloves, and scarf now. . . Steel-cut oats for breakfast these days (simmered with apple slices and a cinnamon stick). . .

And I’ve set up a few projects to bring some enthusiasm to these shorter days.  Sending out more snail mail; felting as a way to repair moth holes; outlining or joining some sketching challenges.  What’s spread all over my desk right now, though, are the fifteen years’ worth of travel notebooks and sketch journals. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with these once I’ve got them organized, but already they’re generating some ideas. Watch this space, as they say. . . 😉

For this November Monday, though. . .

after I walked 10.2 kilometres (thank you, iPhone reportage!) in splendid Fall sunshine to the dentist, then met my guy for lunch on the patio of our favourite local Italian restaurant. . .

I got home and put this post together.  As you can see, it mainly comprises some introductory babble (above 😉 . . . .

and the most recent pages from my current Sketch Journal. . .

I’m trying to figure out how best to convey what I feel when I look at these two pages.  I am discerning enough to know, oh so very clearly, my limitations as artist and/or diarist. I’ve seen, admired, and been inspired by so many wonderful exemplars all over Instagram (and in the good old “Real World” as well).

But I had once again lapsed from my sketching and journalling practice, and that lapsing usually has something to do with doubting (often deploring) my skills as well as with questioning the point of the mark-making at all. (Tied in with the bigger questions of legacy, worth in the world, time left and what to do with it, none of which questions will be tackled here, at least not today 😉

And so, having coaxed myself back to these pages recently, I was delighted to feel a simple and unadulterated pleasure with what I’ve wrought. Some scrap collage, some idiosyncratic journal jottings, some sketching with pencil crayons. . . I left the journal open to this spread and caught myself smiling as I caught a glimpse, walking by. And then caught myself walking by again, just to glimpse and smile. . . .

I don’t want to say anything more, for fear of jinxing this enjoyment. I’m convinced at the moment that my pleasure doesn’t depend on you liking the page as well.  Momentarily, I’m not letting Comparison be the Thief of My Joy. . . .

What I’m sharing with you this November Monday afternoon, then,  is my simple and immediate and sufficient pleasure in having made something I liked. Liked both in the process and as a product. I can easily imagine that it won’t please you aesthetically, that you won’t see the value in the kind of record-keeping or mark-making involved.  I have integrated many voices that represent those responses (along with many other critical ones), and I often see those responses as legitimate.

But today, somehow I’m inspired to give voice to the unmitigated pleasure I’ve been taking in an unstudied, naïve, entry in my journal. Unapologetically and sans qualification, sans embarrassment. Somehow this seems particularly significant, and I wonder if you can relate. Via the Internet (for which I’m generally very grateful), we’re continually inundated with images of such accomplishment that our own efforts can feel pointless, fruitless, and ever so imperfect.

They’re mine, though, these two pages. And those “ever so imperfect” bird sketches I could not have done a few years ago, wouldn’t have even dreamed of trying. Thus, today, I’m going to sit with my satisfaction for a day or two . . . and while I do, perhaps you could share a similar moment you’ve experienced with your own efforts.  Not necessarily with sketching or journalling, of course. But with any project or activity.  Let’s take a moment to celebrate ourselves, to amplify that — tentative, surprised — voice that says “Hey, I like that! I did/made that and I feel happy about it.”

Maybe we can do that while we’re crossing our fingers and hoping for good news. . . .

xo,

f