Making Time to See
“Nobody sees a flower...it is so small it takes time...we haven’t time...and it takes time to see…”
My morning sketchbook practice
I started slow drawing per the suggestion of my coach and counselor, both of us seeing the potential as a next-step addition to my morning journal practice. Instead of reaching for my writing notebook, I reach for my sketchbook and head out to my tiny “cottage garden” that I’ve nurtured since we moved to Richmond, CA last year. (There is about 20 cubic feet of Annie’s Annuals Flower Power in my flower bed right now.) Richmond mornings are cold and somewhat gloomy. Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to stay inside? And, yet, for the past month, I have gone to my garden to slowly draw a flower or two.
What is slow drawing?
Slow drawing is really a name I invented to describe a drawing goal: to slowly draw a flower. Draw this flower as if I were a ladybug crawling along a petal, hiding in a leaf fold with other ladybugs. I have no other goal than to draw as if my fingers were touching each line, fold, shape, and shadow of that flower. While I want to draw other flowers, I continue to draw my hollyhocks, which I am quite vain about for really no reason except the amount of effort it took to grow them and now...glorious. Because I am a trained artist, I work very hard to set aside the rules that I learned long ago, so that I can experience my drawing practice; to get out of my head and tap into the heart. I think I am trying to slow down time and ultimately slow down my thoughts in order to surface unknown feelings and experiences that may be troubling me, may be making me feel stuck and doubtful—all the buried thoughts that you tend to carry.
“Slow drawings are interior drawings in that they are a way to surface emotions that have evaded the hard light of therapy and self awareness. I believe that I am trying to see, and more than that, I am making time to see. ”
My Morning Hollyhocks, Richmond, CA
Why practice in this way?
My counselor has described them as “somatic drawings,” geared to help me connect with my body, specifically my heart. As I draw, I am focused on the sensory, meaning I feel my body waking up sense-by-sense (touch, smell, sound and, of course, sight) and becoming more present. Slow drawings are interior drawings in that they are a way to surface emotions that have evaded the hard light of therapy and self awareness. I believe that I am trying to see, and more than that, I am making time to see. Ultimately, I am connected to my bright yellow hollyhock, which is truly a magical experience. Who wouldn’t want to be connected to those glow-y, mesmerizing blossoms waving in the blue or blue-grey morning? I am them and they are me. If I am doing really well, I can’t critique myself. I can’t comment on the good or bad of my drawing. In slow drawing judgement is suspended. Some call it “focus,” “absorption,” or my favorite, “flow.” The O’Keeffe quote with which I opened this post also brings up the idea of time and friendship: “to have a friend takes time.” Through my slow drawing or somatic drawing practice, I have gained so much (and in a relatively short amount of time), but mainly I have discovered how to be a friend to myself by simply noticing, and more, noticing how slowly drawing flowers can make me feel—connected, safe, and whole.