creative practice, inspiration, instinctive meditation, journaling, mindfulness, passion, Personal Development, Personal growth, Uncategorized, writing

Breath as an Art Material

Image shows handwritten words on lined notebook paper: Art as revelation of self. Breath as an art material, Breath cycles as life & death. Visual mantra practice.

As so often happens, I was looking for something completely different when I came across an old notebook. I think it was from an expressive arts conference I’d attended years ago.

I turned the page and this phrase was glowing off the page : Breath as an art material. Everything stopped as those words carried me away on a mind journey.

The way breath gives voice to poetry and stories.
The collective inhale of a concert band before playing the first note.
Blowing on a dandelion and sending off little white skirts as gifts to sky faeries.
Shaping molten glass, or inflating two slabs of clay into a pillow.
A deep grounding inhale and exhale before stepping onto stage and dancing.
The play of rhythm between lovers.

How breath informs our senses. The sense of smell in cooking. More subtly reaching our instincts, sniffing out adventure, or danger, or a potential mate. Communicating emotions when words don’t suffice.

I began to wonder about using breath in other ways in art, such as using a straw to blow watered down paint on a surface.

What would it be like to receive a breath, and use the energy of releasing it through a paintbrush, in movement, or in whatever other way one might imagine? How does how you vary your breath affect the quality of lines, colours, textures, or gestures? What would the flow of creative practice be like while intentionally incorporating breath as one of the art materials?

I invite you to set some time for your favourite creative practice, and intentionally incorporate breath into your process. I’d love to hear what your experience is!

creative practice, instinctive meditation, meditation, poetry, spirituality, writing

Just So

Image shows a rippling sunlit pool of water surrounded by rocks and ferns.

I started as expected.
The Way
it is done.
Eyes closed.
Hands folded just so.
Then I felt my bones
pressing into the stone seat.
A blade of grass
Tickled my foot.

My eyes opened.
I watched bees gather
at the waters edge
to share a drink
and talk of sweetest flowers.

Two butterflies dared each other
on invisible currents.

Bird landed,
flitted
and chirped.

A rock leaned over to talk
to a tree.

Tree curve echoed
the curve of the creek.

And I knew.

It is every bit as much a prayer,
being part of things as they unfold,
As to sit.
As expected.
The Way
it is done.
Eyes closed.
Hands folded just so.

~AMS 16 Aug 17

creative block, inspiration, instinctive meditation, journaling, meditation, poetry, writing

Writers’ Block

Image shows black and white photograph of a hand holding a pen, while resting on paper

I sit at the table
and time drifts by.

The weight of the pen is loose
in my fingers.
The paper
cool, and rough.

No matter how long I stare,
thought do not appear.

So I scatter words
across the page

Like bones

And wait
for the Oracle
to reveal
her Wisdom.