Summer Fruit

The purple figs in the alley were ripe last week, dropping all over the street and and I wondered why I hadn't noticed them sooner.

Why, when something is almost right in front of our eyes, don't we take notice? There are all kinds of answers, but I've been thinking about this one: What if we're just suffering from "habitual landscape," stuck in a fixed framework, unaware of the bigger picture?

I've been pondering a similar situation in my life: Summer. After moving to Davis, CA some years ago, I began to long for a way out of summer. The sun is hot and and the air is dry--the temperature can sit on us over 100 for days on end. Like today: forecast:101 degrees.

For one reason and another, our family rarely leaves the valley during these extreme months. Frustrated, I imagined vacations in Maine or British Columbia.

I realized I have a perennial problem: without a surplus of money and bonus time, how do I find acceptance for where I am? Like the preschoolers on a recent NPR report, I decided to opt for flexible, fluid thinking. I was struck by Michelle Trudeau, the author of the report's words:

Children try a variety of novel ideas and unusual strategies to get the gadget to go. For example, UC Berkeley psychologist, Alison Gopnik says, "If the child sees that a square block and a round block independently turn the music on, then they'll take a square and take a circle and put them both on the machine together to make it go, even though they never actually saw the experimenters do that."

This is flexible, fluid thinking — children exploring an unlikely hypothesis. Exploratory learning comes naturally to young children, says Gopnik.  Adults, on the other hand, jump on the first, most obvious solution and doggedly stick to it, even if it's not working. That's inflexible, narrow thinking. "We think the moral of the study is that maybe children are better at solving problems when the solution is an unexpected one," says Gopnik. --Preschoolers Outsmart College Kids in Figuring out Gadgets

I decided to try and solve my problem by diving deeper into the very environment that frustrates me. Thus began my "Shift" series; a monoprint series using plants gathered within my immediate surroundings; first in my own back yard and then, broadening out to my neighborhood and beyond.

Initially, the process felt abstract and remote, but soon enough, I became an avid collector of the most common plant species in my neighborhood; what one gardener described as "top 40" plants. Top 40 or no, it didn't seem to matter. Their shapes made elegant tracings in the acrylic paint and their signatures on the paper made me want to stay in the studio and do more and more.

Soon, I had a collection of prints; postcards of my explorations, but I also noticed that my attitude had changed. I was no longer trapped in the heat of the Central Valley. Instead, I was released into my own ongoing exploration/vacation.

These days, I'm taking those prints and cutting them up, piecing together collage prints. It's still hot and I still spend only the early morning hours outdoors, but instead of Maine, the studio is now my refuge.

In Praise of Journaling

Not long ago, I rediscovered my journal. I can't say that I ever really left it, but I was definitely peripatetic. What a great word! Peripatetic means traveling from place to place, especially working in various places for relatively short periods of time. Well, I travel all right, but for a number of years, my journal stayed home.

In a recent art class, the teacher emphasized the value of writing in order to process ideas about artwork. "I know, I know," I thought to myself. I say the same thing to the art therapy groups I facilitate; "journaling is an excellent way to process grief."

Upon hearing this truth again, I felt resistance. "I process what I'm working on in the studio as I walk back and forth along the corridors of the hospital. It's a great place to sort out ideas," I thought.

The thing is, whenever I feel resistance, I know there might be something good and juicy hiding behind my resistance.

I began journaling at age 16 in a poetry class, and I took to it as a tool of comfort during the storms of late adolescence--then the trials of graduate school--then the late nights of early motherhood. Later, as the kids got older, the kind of non-stop thinking it took to keep them on track and still do my artwork didn't leave a lot of time for writing.

But the yearning to journal never left. I needed to find my way past, through, around my resistance. Recently, on the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, I saw my opportunity.

In her excellent blog, Rabbi Yael Levi says of Shavuot: "The journey began with Passover and the acknowledgment of our narrow places—the habits of mind, body and spirit that kept us bound and unable to move forward into our lives.  Passover implored us to imagine a leap into the unknown, to find the willingness to leave behind what had enslaved us.

This journey continued into the Counting of the Omer. For 49 days we counted each day calling forth the healing and discovery that comes through awareness...How do we live from the experiences of this time?

As Shavuot ends... we are urged to take on practices that will keep the fire burning. So we listen and wonder: What is a commitment to practice I can make?"

I leapt and decided to write in my journal each day. And I noticed when I did that, things began to fall into place in unexpected ways. For me, thinking by itself cannot produce the multiplicity of solutions needed when I try to solve a problem of imagination, creativity or technique. It is the physical act of writing that enables my brain to connect from one thought to another and from there, to a whole cluster of ideas.

I haven't kept my resolution perfectly--but I've kept it enough. Enough that I now recognize my worn black Moleskine as a friend and confidant. Enough that I now invite my worn, black Moleskine over a cup of tea and a talk.

Of Figs and Gelli Plates*

I've been on a tear the last couple months, collecting all kinds of plant specimens that grow around my house, sorting them and then printing them using a gelli plate.

I'd taken some professional leave during that time which  allowed me to dig deep. I had a blast and a taste of what it might be like to dedicate myself to my art work full time.

And something happened--something to do with the gelli plate. For some time I've wanted to work larger, but couldn't find the vehicle. The gelli plate in all of its simplicity turned out to be just the ticket.

Its innocuous presence (so not intimidating), the squish of the brayer as it rolls out ink, the sucking sound as the paper is pulled away from the print, and the surprise of lines and curves and color; all are a sensual pleasure that I can wade in for hours.

The biggest discovery was learning how to curate the prints once they were completed, i.e., discovering a way to put them together. I like to lay them all out on the table and play with them, moving the contenders in and out of place until I feel that internal tug that says: "this is it."

Although I'll be working full time at the hospital this summer, I'm looking forward to the weekends, filled with buzzing insects, sleeping cats, and gelli prints of summer flora. Perhaps a frozen yogurt at the end of a studio day.

Oh, and did I mention, the ripening figs? Nothing like them when inspiration is needed!

*My apologies for sending out 2 versions; I accidentally hit the publishing button while editing:-)

Art Therapy Alliance's 30 Day Art Therapy Facebook Hop Starts June 1

Gretchen Miller of Art Therapy Alliance has come up with a creative way to promote connection between art therapists nationally and internationally. For the next 30 days, beginning June 1st, you can hop from one Art Therapist's Facebook page to another, crossing international borders and gathering inspirations, all without the aid of a passport! My own Facebook page, Hannah Klaus Hunter-Artist, will be featured on June 3rd. To find out more, Gretchen's description of the event below:

Art Therapy Alliance’s 30 Day Art Therapy Facebook Hop Starts June 1

Beginning June 1st, I will be hosting a 30 Day Art Therapy Facebook Hop through the Art Therapy Alliance’s community page. Each day of the month will feature a different art therapy Facebook Page I’ve selected from all over the world!

My hope is that this month long collaborative effort will increase the visibility of art therapy across Facebook. Not only is this a fun way to use social media to promote art therapy, but more importantly, an awesome opportunity to support & celebrate the work of art therapists and strengthen our Facebook community dedicated to this field!

Pages chosen for this Art Therapy Hop are all administered by art therapists or art therapy students with an interest in sharing their own work, program, art expression, or ideas and content they are passionate about and inspired by.

To join in on the hop, just head to Hop Headquarters on Facebook everyday in June to learn more about and get inspired by the page being featured. And don’t forget to “like” their page if you want to stay connected to future updates!

 You can also follow this 30 Day Art Therapy Hop on Pinterest and Twitter!

Enjoy & Happy Hopping!

*******

Are you an art therapist or art therapy student with your own art therapy related Facebook Page?  I would love to learn more about it and share it with the Art Therapy Alliance community during this month!  E-mail me at info@arttherapyalliance.org with your link and a brief description before June 30 for consideration!

The Yoga of the Hospital

"What's new?" One of our pediatric doctors asked me recently. "What is new?" I asked myself, flipping through my mental rolodex for an answer. What came out surprised me. "I've decided to see the hospital as an ashram," I replied. I told her about going to see the "Yoga*" exhibit at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco.

Her reply: "We should turn the whole hospital into an ashram." Although this particular doctor comes from India, her answer took me by surprise, but not for long.

Ashram is a Sanskrit word and it describes a place where people go to study the many practices of yoga, particularly meditation and selfless service. It is a place people go who seek inner peace.

Both of us are interested in and passionate about palliative care, and I knew of her recent work using hypnotic techniques for pain control. She has a deep and healing presence--but ashram?

As I spoke, I remembered a moment from my museum visit. We were touring the exhibit with a docent who was explaining a particular yoga posture when spontaneously, another woman with long gray braids bent down on the floor and demonstrated the pose.

When the docent moved on to the next image, an image of the 7 chakras, or energy centers, the same woman offered to describe the various centers to us. When she reached the top chakra, the Sahasrara, (said to connect us to a higher source of awareness), she teared up, a kind of spontaneous expression of her love for yoga.

Watching her brought up memories of my own years of practicing yoga and the benefits which I've experienced.

I remembered this as I explained my view of the hospital as ashram to the doctor: seeing our environment as a learning place--and not just medical learning, but one in which I take on the personal challenges that arise during the day, looking at them not as a thorns in my side, but as opportunities to gain understanding, learn something that I may have been stumbling over for years.

I joked that sometimes it didn't seem as if I were there to help the patients...and the doctor finished my sentence: "you're here to learn about your self."

I don't expect that many people share this view, but I was touched in that moment, surrounded by beeping IV poles, flashing lights and overheard pages, that someone would stop to share a moment of peace. Peace. Patients. Patience.

*Entitled "Yoga," the artworks featured in the exhibition date from the 2nd to the 20th centuries. Images ranging from benevolent deities and gurus to Tantric goddesses and sinister yogis reveal how yoga practices—and perceptions of them—have transformed over time and across cultures.