<\/p>\n
Athletes talk about flow; about being in the zone, losing oneself in the moment, being perfectly in sync with one’s activity. I’m no athlete, that’s for sure, but I spend quite a good deal of time in yoga and meditation hoping for flow, trying to relax into it: sometimes I can, sometimes not. But I found it again this weekend making photogravures out in the bush at Baldessin Press<\/a>. Something about the absorbing rhythms of testing, inking and proofing are both deeply engaging and deeply relaxing to me. And it can’t have hurt to be in such a beautiful, special place: a bluestone studio in the bush, the energy of other artists at work, insight into techniques that spark my imagination. It was such a joy to be a student again. It’s been a long time since I’ve made anything without a preconceptions about the result or pressures to be done by a certain time or to please a client. This is something I struggle with as someone who runs a creative business, albeit a part-time micro-business. How not to smother the joy in making things with my anxieties about pleasing others, paying the rent, getting the job done on time?\u00c2\u00a0<\/p>\n It made me think too about my own workshops, and whether or not I focus too much on the students completing their projects at the expense of their experimenting with the process. I’m not sure. What I do know is that it was helpful to have the experience of learning something for the first time again, an experience I’ll remember the next time I teach. \u00c2\u00a0<\/p>\n The weekend was also filled with memories: of the long, hot summer months Holly and I spent working on our book<\/a>, of the formative time I spent at Yolla Bolly<\/a> (where I had my first glimpses into a magical book-making life), the distinctive smell of ink and processing polymer plates. But it also brought back memories of myself when I was new to all this, how inspired I was, how motivated to follow every lead, to find out everything I could possibly could about anything print-related. I remember being mad at myself that I didn’t discover letterpress until I was twenty-five years old. All those wasted years before! This past weekend revived that person, in both the enthusiasm and the pre-emptive anxiety. Nearly thirty-eight, and I didn’t know about this? Life really is far too short.\u00c2\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n