Sometimes

Notes from the edges of surrender

Sometimes things don’t go, after all,

from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel

faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail.

Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war,

elect an honest man, decide they care

enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.

Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best intentions do not go

amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.

The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow

that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.

-'Sometimes' By Sheenagh Pugh

I named the drawing at the top of this newsletter ‘The Breakdown’. Literally, it is a picture of our very unreliable 16 year-old green car (affectionately dubbed the ‘moss-mobile’). This car has broken down so many times that it has become the stuff of myths and legends. One time, the fan belt snapped just outside the home of fellow artist

Helen Stephens

, finally allowing us to meet in person after having already worked and joked together…and there the car remained for a whole month awaiting repair, but allowing me to see other fellow artist

Katie Chappell

on the way back. Isn’t that funny? Other times, it has not been funny at all, just expensive and frustrating, and those times awaiting yet another roadside rescue can be lonely moments indeed.

This drawing was an act of catharsis for me, the motif by which I shall remember these very wobbly early days of being a solo parent to two little people, chief problem-solver and self-employed woman holding on by my weary fingers to creative and personal dreams, while the dishes never quite get done.

When things go wrong, as they will do, your choice as a parent is to either break down or spin the straw into gold so your children experience it differently. On these occasions, I’m grateful for the traditions of storytelling and the way this art form can transform a trial into an adventure. Perhaps we will always have terrible cars, perhaps this will never feel any easier, but perhaps these times I remember as so raw and tender, they will simply remember that we were together. Either way, these times are all we have. It matters.

Like the moss-mobile, I attempted for quite some time to just keep things moving (A rolling stone gathering no moss? A moss-mobile not turning to stone?) but, as per my previous notes, this really stopped working for me last year. I could feel it chiefly in my body that things were not right. It hurt to cancel contracts and plans. Nobody really wants to just stop and sit down in the mud but, at some point, I resolved that it was better to just lay there like a mere earthworm for a while, rather than become food for worms because I pushed it too far beyond possible recovery. Sometimes, you have to pull the car over.

So that’s what I’ve been doing, trying to understand the art of surrender, and that is where the surprises have come in…

A Homeward Pilgrimage

Last month, the sense of exhaustion was becoming so much that I made plans to take a few days and visit home, going to a few parts of Scotland to see friends who need no explanations. There was no real plan in mind here other than trying to find some source of re-energising to get me through deadlines, and I don’t know why or how, but the shape of this little trip felt like something of a pilgrimage.

Just before I headed up the east coast, I spent two days talking to a Scottish musician friend about our shared roots in some of Scotland’s working class areas, the lovely and the very hard things. I noted in him a lightness about it all that I wished to have for myself. Immediately after this, I found myself staying longer than planned in the very area I was born, kept there by a huge storm and and a silly fall. What was notable, when I surrendered to a change of plan, was that a lot of things did actually feel lighter. Isn’t it funny how healing can happen when you’re not looking, how it can be instantaneous at times? Sometimes, it really does happen.

In the home of a Fife friend, I gratefully received her signature gift of hospitality and observed this quote above her desk, which really spoke to me about where I am currently; making a deliberate decision to change my approach, a commitment that may or may not work, but a commitment nonetheless. (I’ll tell you at the end how this has already played out).

After this, I travelled in the car with my friend from Germany, a gifted film-maker and brilliant thinker, to the home of some long-time friends in Ross-shire, north of Inverness. Their home has always been the one place that I sleep more deeply that anywhere else on earth. Complete emotional honesty has always been the name of the game with these friends but, again, this felt different; the unique combination of conversations with others also staying at their home, the reminders of love, the truth-telling. The real pivotal moment though was even more simple; sitting on the carpet, I was speaking about challenges of life and one particular creative project that was worrying me and, as I did, my friend spontaneously braided my hair as you would for a little girl. I don’t know what to say about this really, but the simple attunement of that moment fixed something for me. I knew how to complete the project the next day. I understood, once again that I do really have belonging in my life. Sometimes, it’s clear.

Driving down the west coast alone, I listened to my musician friend’s songs in the car, many of which felt like a soundtrack to the week I was having. One in particular had a very powerful high note, the kind you have to sing with a raw chest voice that means your body is more open and resonant, and I let it repeat several times over until I felt that sound coming out of me too. I realised then that I hadn’t made a powerful sound of any kind in many, many years. What a feeling.

Lastly, the beauty of the Clyde Valley at golden hour wooed me off the road for a walk and I stopped into a wee cafe for a warm drink. The only person there was the Nepali woman who worked there and we somehow had the most profound conversation, in which she told her own story and mentioned things that felt like answers to questions that had been on my mind all week. We hugged and cried, which is not something I usually do with strangers, agreeing that it felt like a divine appointment.

All of these happenings were small and yet, they connected together to make something significant.

Hold the Open Heart

I still do not understand it but, since that little simple trip (a route I have taken many times), I’ve been walking around with a sense of lightness and literal open-heartedness that is hard to describe or illustrate, but those near my notice it. I described it to my art director, an artist herself, and she showed me this lovely William Kentridge piece, which reminded me of this Rumi quote:

“Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life's search for love and wisdom”

Not only that but the ‘Providence’ referenced in that William Hutchinson Murray quote has been appearing out of nowhere since I got home, in the form of restful invitations, international adventures, easy income, projects that meet totally unspoken secret wishes, and the blossoming of utterly beautiful collaborations and friendships. I admit, I was braced for something completely the opposite of all this when I chose a path of surrender… but sometimes, SOMETIMES, that isn’t what happens at all. Sometimes you let yourself fall and, after the momentary helplessness, love does catch you. What a grace, what a mercy.

“Sometimes things don’t go, after all,

from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel

faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail”

Much love, Gill x

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p.s. I brought home several boxes of my granny’s things and among them were some lovely photos and this little album containing printed out emails I’d sent her from my travels, in which I just chatter incessantly about trees and animals I’d seen. These things are now in prime position on my desk to remind me to ‘Hold the Open Heart’ while navigating the last push towards finishing existing work in order to take a full breather.

Oh, and one such bit of providence lately has been this beautiful thing. Karine Polwart continues to be something of an unwitting musical fairy godmother in my life and, when she offered me the chance to contribute artwork for her album with Mary Chapin Carpenter and Julie Fowlis, it barely felt like real life. And yet, here it is. You can find it on all the platforms, but I highly recommend the lavender vinyl!

Lastly, this book I worked on was just published. ‘The Crane and the Keeper’ is the real life tale of friendship between Smithsonian keeper Chris Crowe and rare crane Walnut. It was an utter joy to work on and to get to know Chris. I can’t think of another job were you get to geek out with aviculturalists, astronauts, authors and artists all in the same week!