I’m an extremely verbal individual. I love to talk, share, and teach. I love to tell stories, both verbally and through my art. When I was in graduate school to become a psychotherapist one of the things I had to learn during my supervision sessions was all about “therapeutic silence”. It’s the time in the session when neither the therapist nor the client speaks and what bubbles to the surface for the client is the next leg of the journey. It took me a while to get the hang of the silence and to understand that it wasn’t necessary to save another through the use of words. Actually, silence became the lifesaver.
I was in my studio yesterday and usually I walk into the studio and turn on the music (I’ll talk more about my musical selections at a later date) and get to work. Over the course of the past week I’ve been experimenting with a new routine. I’m walking into the studio, sitting at the table and begin hand stitching on one of the pieces in the collection. The silence isn’t weird; it’s just quiet. I would equate it to those who do walking meditation. I’m able to allow what needs to appear in my mind or disappear from my mind to follow its course. I’m allowing the silence to resonate within allowing the work speak louder than words.
Allowing the silence to be the starting point allows the work to stand out in new ways. The color becomes more prominent to my eyes. The texture of the fabric with the paint becomes more textural to my hands. The stitch seems to remain more consistent as I proceed with the work without even measuring. There is a rhythm, quite different from the rhythm of music because it’s my internal rhythm that is driving the process.
It’s a new day and a new dawn in the studio and silence, at least at the beginning of my studio session is a gift I’m giving myself and my art!