A Dawning
I’m going to risk writing something today that sounds ungrateful. I’m also going to try and be brave in my honesty before the moment passes.
About five or six weeks ago, I was having a conversation with someone who was determined to tell me to keep my life small for their benefit. It doesn’t really matter who or why because, the fact is, pretty much all of us are going to come up against that energy at some point. For some reason, that friction motivates me a bit. Within a week, I went into my masters audition for the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland with more fire than I might have otherwise done, and I also signed a really nice two-day client job that changed the game in many ways. These things remain a pleasant surprise to me.
Following this little flurry of excitement, I have also had to set about rapidly updating my CV in my spare time, and preparing lots of letters so I can write to trusts and other places to try and find the financial means to take up the offer of the study place in September. I was updating my website and made this little collage of clients in order to make it all look sufficiently shiny. And hereafter comes the dawning…
Looking at this not even complete list is mind-blowing to me. It feels like writing about some other person, and the wee inner imposter is there with her nonsense. If there’s one thing I can see from this overview, it’s that I really do know how to work very hard. And I have been working hard for a long time, a lot of it out of joy and part of it out of the fear of survival (and maybe a bit of desire to feel accepted). I’m not unique at all in that feeling; I just happen to have a less common job that some other folks.
The other thing that dawns on me as I look at this list though, is a pain point. It has been sixteen years and there are core things that I set out to do that I have not made a serious attempt at yet. I have fallen into the comfort zone of mostly serving the creative vision and needs of others. In many ways, there’s nothing wrong with it; it has been a lovely way to make a living, I get to see things and meet people who are simply wonderful. I’ve been able to be a present and consistent mother for my children, always there for them at 3pm when school ends (even if I do go back to work when they’re in bed). Nothing is wasted.
On the other hand, living a life aligned with your heart, your values and your sense of calling involves risk, and comfort zones can be a trap, whether you are an artist, an accountant or an unpaid caregiver. I leave my thirties behind tomorrow and I’m feeling a lot of things about the risks not taken, professional and personal. I can sort of visualise myself on some other slightly different timeline, except she’s all the way over there and I don't know how to get there, or if I've taken too many turns away from that path.
A Dawning
Have you ever encountered a piece of art that moves you in a very specific way, not just for its own beauty because, somehow, something within it feels like someone lit a flare and momentarily lit the path for you and your own creative journey? A year ago, when I realised it was time to move countries, I first heard this album ‘A Dawning’ by Olafur Arnalds and the Irish musician Talos, and it has accompanied me all year. It was the last album Talos made because he passed away months before its release at the age of 37, a sobering though on its own. It somehow is filled with all the light, melancholy, natural world and brotherhood that expands my heart…but really it’s more than I can put into words. When he sings ‘Oh brother come be my keeper, hold me dear” and “Don’t let the light outrun us yet”, I sob from an unguarded and un-analytical place in my soul that feels like it pre-exists the tangible me. If I could make my own version of an artistic moment like this just once, I'll be satisfied.
It feels like our whole world is at a big inflection point. As I write this, while listening to ‘A Dawning’, I can smell the smoke on the wind from the wildfires engulfing Cairngorm mountain and other closer fires. It feels as visceral as the hatred that is being stoked in so many corners, or the monstrous march of technocracy and the data centres that want to eat the landscape. Let us not even speak of what our world does to children.
In one breath, I feel like the inevitability of this high-speed breakdown of things is beyond me but on the other hand, I’m stubborn. I too wish to make art that says ‘brother be my keeper’ and ‘don’t let the light outrun us, yet’. Not only that, I want to make it together with other people, from different corners, in processes that are thoroughly dedicated to genuine co-creation. The people who gave me that power as a fragile 12 year old are still in my life now and I have greatly loved having chances to work with children and hand them that power in return; the power to be an artist, a real contributor, a respected and full human being, albeit a young one. If we can co-create art together, perhaps we also pick up the skills of co-creating and co-imaginging new stories and behaviours. That’s how I feel, anyway. I’ve seen it too. And truly, what is our terrifying alternative?
In my next act of life, I’d like to finally follow the threads of writing, art-making and community making that allow me to do all that with more focus. It’s hard to describe, but I sort of already know what I need to do, and applying for robust academic supervision is part of it. Where the risk comes is realising that there is only so much time in the day or years left, so wise choices have to be made about priorities. When you’re younger, ‘outputs’ feel like the goal. It’s nice indeed to say there are books in this world with your name on them or some big company liked your work enough to hire you, or someone gave you a nice wee certificate. But somehow, it just all feels less important now, maybe because of age or because of how insignificant individual ‘achievement’ feels in this version of the world. So today, there a hint of sadness and feeling of threshold-crossing away from the more certain things.
What I actually feel is wonder at the idea that somehow something beautiful and good and restorative is still trying to express itself through all of us in this world, in ways that make specific sense to us individually but that create a undeniable collective radiance. It’s in the things we make, the ways we care, the connections we build.
On some other timeline, there is a version of me who is simply in a warm house with a red roof, a family, offering respite and encouragement to many visitors and creating stories with others that hopefully feel like a lifeline, whether they are printed on paper and bound like a book, told on the internet or spoken aloud into the shared air.
So here we go…. no turning back, no time to lose.
While we’re here….
This is of course an entirely optional and zero pressure thing, but if there are people out there who are interested in supporting my next phase of research and progress, I’ve generated a fundraising link for the academic costs so I can hopefully find a way to accept the Conservatoire place by September. If it’s meant to be, then it will be. If not, it’s part of the journey.
Thank you, as ever, to everyone who supports my work, shares things and sends encouraging words and stories. You’re the good stuff of my daily life and I never forget it.
Here it is….
What you’re doing is really important, there’s nothing I believe in more! I’ve made a donation - happy birthday for tomorrow
This is inspiring. Happy almost 40th!