It begins with the first bird

It begins with the first bird, who wakes and sings then another and another by the time natures alarm clock wakes me from my dream laden slumber it’s a chorus. Now it’s a soft tinkling as they quieten.

The light is bleached the air cool and still I’m not ready to leave the warm bed yet, so I prop myself up with pillows and wear my yellow poncho and blue merino hat. The keyboard is cold and slower than my fast flow pen, but I wanted to jump right into keeping the words instead of re writing.

New ways of doing things like turning a painting upside down to see if the composition still works. Becoming a fresh pair of eyes. A stranger once more discovering my environment and the rhythms of these days. My days,are mostly mine apart from some volunteering. That’s what appealed to me the most, a sanctuary to reclaim my creativity. Did I lose it? Misplace it under the piles of “to do lists,’ distractions and choices. My choices, I don’t have a family to care for these days, the children grown up but still those habitual ties and stories prevent me from doing this.

What is this? Writing? Connection to myself? Opening the door to curiosity once more. Claiming time to be creative.

Last night I worried I would have nothing to say, my mind was tired and full of other people’s stories filling my phone screen as the unwanted messaged kept appearing and I dutifully answered them. Yet the hours of sleep washes those demands away and my mind awakes ready, and I am present.

Fifteen years ago, someone recommended me Julia Camerons artists way, I shrugged as always did when someone mentioned this. I had five years of Art school a diploma and a degree, I knew about creativity, but did I know how to be a creative and was I ready to face the hidden creative in me?

 At the time my children were eleven, fourteen and fifteen, needing me a little less and I wondered if now the time was to do my master’s in art therapy. I rang the university and was told that, yes with my qualifications and all my years of teaching in the community I would make an excellent candidate but the time away from the family and the cost of the course became a hurdle and I decided against it. I walked into our local bookshop and for $29.99 I bought the artists way.

 At dinner that night I explained to the family that I wished to study again, if I did the art therapy course it would mean working every other weekend and some days in the week. They listened faces a little puzzled as if waiting for what this really meant. “Or …” I paused I can get up half an hour earlier and write morning pages and one of you can bring me a cup of tea and the rest of you can make your own lunch boxes. Relief filled the room as they nodded profusely as the new routine was committed to.

 For about ten years I wrote every morning as habitual as brushing my teeth. The journals piled up and my self-awareness grew. Then I wrote most days, then sometimes, then once a week. Instead, I chose walking the dog with Glenn in that morning slot, which I love to do, now I chose some more sleep or getting on top of jobs while Glenn has his coffee, pats the cat and reads the news, then we walk. The reasons are valid, but the habit has gone. I often hop back into bed to write but mostly that’s admin writing, artists bios workshop planning, social media posts and the flow has gone.

Why did I want to come here? and do this Artist in residency at Driving creek pottery in the coromandel. I don’t think I fully know why but I was curious enough to ask why not. There is something magical about this place that was built by Barry Brickell. A vision for a creative community that cares for the environment through conservation. What appeals to me the most is that although Barry died … his vision lives on.

In some small way by being here I am connected to this. I have been able to claim my creative time. Set aside five weeks to see what happens.

It feels like travelling again, the newness awakes my senses.

There’s an urgency to record the newness before it becomes the normal. While I’m still on the fringe looking in before the conversations pull me in. I want that too as people are what fascinate me, I’m genuinely interested especially as here is a pool of creatives but I need time to do my own practice first.

I go to the kitchen with my new favourite wobbly mug and peppermint tea bag. There is a man at the table, headphones on laptop open. Working I think and say hello and smile. He takes the headphones off. “Sorry” he says. “Don’t be.” I reply. “I’m doing the same.” And he introduces himself as Alex and I remember him from yesterday crouching in the afternoon sun busy preparing for a pottery firing. There was that hum of camaraderie of creatives working together. This morning, he is doing other work, his market research job. He asks if I am a fulltime artist, and I reply yes but quickly pad it out with the fact that I teach workshops in the community and have done for many years and that’s mostly my income. Although now its equal teaching and but its complex to explain so I say I’m a fulltime artist but get paid halftime and we are back to time again, time and money. He says he’s changed his work structure to see more of his children, so its work first, family second and pottery third. He too is using the residency to claim the time for his creativity and said four weeks isn’t that long to be away from the family compared to how much time he normally gives them.

Yesterday is already fading, the day that perfect spring fresh sunniness that makes the blue of the sky and sea more vivid than I can describe. Spring is waking us up after the winter greyness the cold damp days. The trees heavy with pink blossoms and the bees busy.

I walked with Glenn and Lenox on our beach. I drove and drove round tight corners keeping my eyes on the road missing the sweeping views of the Coromandel listening to my music and concentrating on getting here.

Here where I have been before, first when the girls were very young maybe 28yrs ago and then a few more times. A favourite family outing with the train but it wasn’t until my visit at the beginning of the year with Glenn when we met Paul that Driving creek really appealed to me. Paul taking us ‘behind the scenes’ showing us the studios meeting the artists and him saying to me you should come and do a residency you’d love it, and I knew I would.

The why is a mere detail the pull to come here was the invitation to see, do and be part of a place I was intrigued by.

First, I settle in make my studio mine, my little cabin mine just for the next five weeks. Fill it with enough familiar things to comfort me but not distract. The preparation to come here was equally important. I needed to remember everything as this is a remote area with only a small town. I liked that, I imagined what I needed then joyfully unpacked and found the right places for everything. Practical foundations help mental ones, create a calmness and affirm I have everything I need.