Wow, what a project to undertake so scientifically. It suits you. For me, I rather sleep in every day, because I am most energized afternoon/evening/night. :-) I took on a big project this month as well, one of writing a blog post ever day for the entire month (NaBloPoMo). It's so much work I didn't anticipate but I am also enjoying being very productive, as it happens with deciding to do projects. I don't want to fail myself. I'm sure you know what I mean, right?
My second project is also writing. I hope you are enjoying a month of daily posts. I’m sure they are fantastic, and I definitely know what you mean about wanting to complete what you set out to do. You’ve got this!
What a wonderful view! I can see sky from my windows, but the sun hides behind trees until it is well and truly risen. Same for the moon. But I do love the shifting colors, how they lighten and lift as the moments pass. Like iHanna, I don't think I would be particularly successful at getting up before sunrise everyday, so applause to you for your commitment. This line feels precious, Amy: "It is very clear to me that I will never learn to spin straw into gold, but I do know how to look at the light."
Such an important skill, and enough to make a world of difference some days. Thank you.
Thank you, Elizabeth, for reading and commenting. This “time of day” has felt more of a struggle than ever before—at least the “actually” getting up part. (Feeling my age, so to speak.) Like a lot of you, I stay up late, too, so I’m definitely playing the alarm game in the morning to try and make this happen. And, you are right to point out that I am lucky to have this view. Without that, I wouldn’t even consider such a project. I would find something else to record. I hope for all of us that we look for such simple ways to create more mindfulness in our days.
I get that. Since this started on the first, it’s a daily that I’m hoping to see through. I find creative habit can be a good mental distraction, too, even if for a few minutes. We don’t lose anything by making art for five, ten, thirty minutes. It doesn’t mean we’ve given up or in or are not aware. But I know you are doing your wonderful countdown project! I am enjoying seeing your photos and notes as you celebrate the good things, Melissa. It’s important.
I am very impressed with your self-discipline. I am not really a morning person, since I struggle to sleep at night. Your sketches are beautiful and I really enjoyed reading your description of the sun rising and all the colors and transformations.
Thanks, Laura. I’m up late, too, but I also do have to be up at a certain time for work, so I try and safeguard a bit of morning before that. This “catch the dawn” time is feeling hard though this year! I keep telling myself I’m just out of practice. I’m typically already awake near this time… but actually getting up and standing in the dark to do this is taking some effort. Have a good week.
I love your tracking light project! I've never tried that, and it looks like something that would feel good for me to do! Thanks for being so vulnerable and sharing this post with us, Amy!
Thanks so much, Jason. Your current project has the same impetus.... the acknowledgment that it is always changing/never the same.... that there is beauty simply in the looking (and for some of us, in the attempt to capture).
This is such a beautiful practice, Amy. Thank you for sharing it in detail. I love the addition of color on the ipad this time. And as the process is the important part, it is really nice to read about that experience for each day.
Like a gratitude practice (lol), a creative practice is about the doing, not the thinking per se. I’m surprised by how much I needed to hear that It Matters. I have to admit, though, that I find the noodling and the strategizing and the turning of the ideas over and over in my mind — the anticipation, really — is a part of the practice that I love; I think the imagining counts too (along with the making).
I’m just realizing now, reading the opening to your letter, how much I have used this process of planning (imagining, designing, dot-connecting) as solace in dark times. Not as avoidance or denial, but as a way of bending my mind and my creative energy — and my entire emotional being, I would say — towards something generative. Towards the light, even.
“A crepuscular project that requires getting up in the dark.” This is life now, no?
Plus, I think we should seize any chance we find to use the word “crepuscular.”Magnificent word, magnificent sentence. This is what I come for, Amy.
What a great project. I have always been drawn to its companion: The gloaming, the blue hour, the moonrise. The dying of the light. But the darkness is not necessarily bleak. And it’s twilight nonetheless.
Of course. Of course you’re a creature of twilight. It’s a place – and an idea – defined by interstitial being. And the colors are fucking amazing.
“I feel the layering of other years, other Novembers, other skies, other journeys of self.” So eloquent. I feel this too.
I love the pairing of reflecting and reflection, and wrestle always with the challenge of naming. It’s the dream of a common language, which I’ve been rereading this month after years of lines and stanzas floating in and out of my head, partially correct, unmoored, essential)
On timing (of your reflections, and mine): I write these responses in real time as I’m reading. I don’t wait until I’ve digested your whole post and synthesized a set of comments. It may be disjointed, but it feels authentic. And your words always lift in me a sense of urgency: I need to explain to myself, to remind myself, to share with you, even, the strands of the lifeline that emerge from the glow of my phone and the darkness around the edges of my chair. I feel compelled to take a note after almost every sentence.
And I like watching the asynchronous dialogue unfold. I made my (cursive?) comment on the possibility of color, for example, before learning how your notes would unfold into a more detailed discussion of color. Per usual, we are adjacent but entirely distinct. I find my twilight in the blues, indigos, and violets; yours emerges through the oranges, reds and purples. We have both tried to capture, in the past, the habit of line and layer, the structure of transition, the translation of the in-between. We both rely on text around the edges. (nb; I am in no way suggesting that I know you or that my experience is equivalent; I’m just trying to describe the resonance.)
“The ledge of sad succulents“ is a fabulous and evocative title for many things — bands, songs, poems, life stages, worrisome locations in general… ;)
I am captivated by the idea of a standard overlay to facilitate “looking through and beyond.” I had wondered if that would be your method. It’s such an excellent framework for a way of seeing in general.
Other lessons: a) Sometimes we have to move our whole bodies in order to see clearly, stooping and stretching and sorting through piles; b) Intention counts; c) Color in the wild is not always logical, despite the science that says otherwise; d) The eye is the truth, despite its inconstancy; e) The diffuse is neither mask nor elision, however uncomfortable it may be for anyone trying to define edges and lines and distinct points of connection — for whom the world has ledges and ceilings, haloes and rims.
p.s.
The thumbnails are delightful. Your narrative wouldn’t be as clear and compelling without them.
I should wait to reply, right? A day, a week, a month? Be sure of my words? Of course not! I always am glad to see a comment from you. I pulled this one into a note app and marked it up, a few replies in the margins, highlights, and so on. lol. This “comments dialogue” we have is a surprise and a joy. (This IS the stuff of a good epistolary exchange.) Thank you for your close reading, for sharing the mirrored bits, ways in which we echo and circle and approach the similar even if from different vantages.
I guess I’m glad the thumbnails are part of the post. lol. Knowing what the scrawled lines look like from previous years on notepads and slips of paper, I guess it’s good they are sort of showable this year. (One may not look like much, but the grids make me happy. As with most things, juxtaposition adds something. I’m fine with that.) — In this post (I think, without checking back to see how much I cut), I mentioned that there are two things (at least) I planned to do this month and didn’t do at all. You’ve hit on one of them here without knowing it — after seeing your comment, I did one of those things for the first time this month. It was maybe the thing I most wanted to do, which would have had no tracking (other than photos) — and not once, until today. Words matter.
I think it still may be that it shows up in how I talk about this month, although the weeks are slimming from now to the end of the year, and they are weeks that I know have fractions of their normal time for writing. So, all I’ll say in this moment is that I am drawing early twilight, but I’m with you on the end of day.
I do think planning (or thinking about doing) is often more fun than the doing. In some cases, the doing is just anticlimactic (e.g., it was better in my head). In some cases, I think enjoying the “thinking about it” and never moving forward is a form of procrastination (for me). (Right now, I’m there.) In some case, that same moment is more about accepting reality. But, as you alluded, in some cases, the thinking itself is a tool, a sign of action and actively envisioning solutions or responses to whatever the circumstances are. We have to be flexible in how we assess our thinking and our activity or inactivity, reframing and reinterpreting. I wonder how much I can think and plan in hibernation… what would come of that ;)
Gloaming is a great word. I find it difficult to really hear the lifeline words. I don’t know how, in this time, I could possibly be striking that chord. But, if so, I am glad.
Ha ha I totally deserve that joke about timing. Touché. Last week’s delays, however, were not (entirely) due to my maddeningly futzy, perfectionist, ruminative, staccato process. I was gobsmacked by hurt, both physical (thanks to Sackler Inc. ensuring that no woman in America can get adequate pain medication), and the other kind, equally debilitating, from loss. Perhaps a wee bit of self-pity as well.
Here endeth the excuses.
I’m so happy that my missives are welcome, and land with all the un/intended inflections and refractions.
The Substack app is behaving oddly right now — cutting off the latter part of comments, abandoning the reader mid-sentence. So frustrating. I let it ride while reading other people’s remarks, but now that it cut off yours I’m heading to my laptop to see if the online version is any better. Grrrrr.
Sorry. I really was joking - and poking fun more at myself than anything because I can't seem to wait even though part of me advocates pacing. Lol. I can't tell you how sad (and somehow surprised) I am about the meds comment. (Someday, that will make sense with a photo that I still can't deal with - but is on my mental list of things.) I hope you got something worked out --- and that it's just healing and not a setback. The self-pity arena can be hard to find a way out of, but you'll continue to hear echoes and voices trying to pull you to the surface. I'm sure I'm not the only one throwing out the rope. I do hope this week is better and that you have some kind of help if you need it.
Weird about the comments being cut -- no link to expand? I mean all the good stuff is surely what is hidden. ;) No worries. Thank you for reading and commenting.
The thumbnails are lovely Amy, I love the color exploration.
Thank you, Lauren. And thanks for commenting!
Wow, what a project to undertake so scientifically. It suits you. For me, I rather sleep in every day, because I am most energized afternoon/evening/night. :-) I took on a big project this month as well, one of writing a blog post ever day for the entire month (NaBloPoMo). It's so much work I didn't anticipate but I am also enjoying being very productive, as it happens with deciding to do projects. I don't want to fail myself. I'm sure you know what I mean, right?
My second project is also writing. I hope you are enjoying a month of daily posts. I’m sure they are fantastic, and I definitely know what you mean about wanting to complete what you set out to do. You’ve got this!
What a wonderful view! I can see sky from my windows, but the sun hides behind trees until it is well and truly risen. Same for the moon. But I do love the shifting colors, how they lighten and lift as the moments pass. Like iHanna, I don't think I would be particularly successful at getting up before sunrise everyday, so applause to you for your commitment. This line feels precious, Amy: "It is very clear to me that I will never learn to spin straw into gold, but I do know how to look at the light."
Such an important skill, and enough to make a world of difference some days. Thank you.
Thank you, Elizabeth, for reading and commenting. This “time of day” has felt more of a struggle than ever before—at least the “actually” getting up part. (Feeling my age, so to speak.) Like a lot of you, I stay up late, too, so I’m definitely playing the alarm game in the morning to try and make this happen. And, you are right to point out that I am lucky to have this view. Without that, I wouldn’t even consider such a project. I would find something else to record. I hope for all of us that we look for such simple ways to create more mindfulness in our days.
This is beautiful - I need a project but I can't focus
I get that. Since this started on the first, it’s a daily that I’m hoping to see through. I find creative habit can be a good mental distraction, too, even if for a few minutes. We don’t lose anything by making art for five, ten, thirty minutes. It doesn’t mean we’ve given up or in or are not aware. But I know you are doing your wonderful countdown project! I am enjoying seeing your photos and notes as you celebrate the good things, Melissa. It’s important.
I am very impressed with your self-discipline. I am not really a morning person, since I struggle to sleep at night. Your sketches are beautiful and I really enjoyed reading your description of the sun rising and all the colors and transformations.
Thanks, Laura. I’m up late, too, but I also do have to be up at a certain time for work, so I try and safeguard a bit of morning before that. This “catch the dawn” time is feeling hard though this year! I keep telling myself I’m just out of practice. I’m typically already awake near this time… but actually getting up and standing in the dark to do this is taking some effort. Have a good week.
I love your tracking light project! I've never tried that, and it looks like something that would feel good for me to do! Thanks for being so vulnerable and sharing this post with us, Amy!
Thanks so much, Jason. Your current project has the same impetus.... the acknowledgment that it is always changing/never the same.... that there is beauty simply in the looking (and for some of us, in the attempt to capture).
beautiful series
Thank you, Kathi!
This is such a beautiful practice, Amy. Thank you for sharing it in detail. I love the addition of color on the ipad this time. And as the process is the important part, it is really nice to read about that experience for each day.
(I learned a new word too: crepuscular.)
Like a gratitude practice (lol), a creative practice is about the doing, not the thinking per se. I’m surprised by how much I needed to hear that It Matters. I have to admit, though, that I find the noodling and the strategizing and the turning of the ideas over and over in my mind — the anticipation, really — is a part of the practice that I love; I think the imagining counts too (along with the making).
I’m just realizing now, reading the opening to your letter, how much I have used this process of planning (imagining, designing, dot-connecting) as solace in dark times. Not as avoidance or denial, but as a way of bending my mind and my creative energy — and my entire emotional being, I would say — towards something generative. Towards the light, even.
“A crepuscular project that requires getting up in the dark.” This is life now, no?
Plus, I think we should seize any chance we find to use the word “crepuscular.”Magnificent word, magnificent sentence. This is what I come for, Amy.
What a great project. I have always been drawn to its companion: The gloaming, the blue hour, the moonrise. The dying of the light. But the darkness is not necessarily bleak. And it’s twilight nonetheless.
Of course. Of course you’re a creature of twilight. It’s a place – and an idea – defined by interstitial being. And the colors are fucking amazing.
“I feel the layering of other years, other Novembers, other skies, other journeys of self.” So eloquent. I feel this too.
I love the pairing of reflecting and reflection, and wrestle always with the challenge of naming. It’s the dream of a common language, which I’ve been rereading this month after years of lines and stanzas floating in and out of my head, partially correct, unmoored, essential)
On timing (of your reflections, and mine): I write these responses in real time as I’m reading. I don’t wait until I’ve digested your whole post and synthesized a set of comments. It may be disjointed, but it feels authentic. And your words always lift in me a sense of urgency: I need to explain to myself, to remind myself, to share with you, even, the strands of the lifeline that emerge from the glow of my phone and the darkness around the edges of my chair. I feel compelled to take a note after almost every sentence.
And I like watching the asynchronous dialogue unfold. I made my (cursive?) comment on the possibility of color, for example, before learning how your notes would unfold into a more detailed discussion of color. Per usual, we are adjacent but entirely distinct. I find my twilight in the blues, indigos, and violets; yours emerges through the oranges, reds and purples. We have both tried to capture, in the past, the habit of line and layer, the structure of transition, the translation of the in-between. We both rely on text around the edges. (nb; I am in no way suggesting that I know you or that my experience is equivalent; I’m just trying to describe the resonance.)
“The ledge of sad succulents“ is a fabulous and evocative title for many things — bands, songs, poems, life stages, worrisome locations in general… ;)
I am captivated by the idea of a standard overlay to facilitate “looking through and beyond.” I had wondered if that would be your method. It’s such an excellent framework for a way of seeing in general.
Other lessons: a) Sometimes we have to move our whole bodies in order to see clearly, stooping and stretching and sorting through piles; b) Intention counts; c) Color in the wild is not always logical, despite the science that says otherwise; d) The eye is the truth, despite its inconstancy; e) The diffuse is neither mask nor elision, however uncomfortable it may be for anyone trying to define edges and lines and distinct points of connection — for whom the world has ledges and ceilings, haloes and rims.
p.s.
The thumbnails are delightful. Your narrative wouldn’t be as clear and compelling without them.
I should wait to reply, right? A day, a week, a month? Be sure of my words? Of course not! I always am glad to see a comment from you. I pulled this one into a note app and marked it up, a few replies in the margins, highlights, and so on. lol. This “comments dialogue” we have is a surprise and a joy. (This IS the stuff of a good epistolary exchange.) Thank you for your close reading, for sharing the mirrored bits, ways in which we echo and circle and approach the similar even if from different vantages.
I guess I’m glad the thumbnails are part of the post. lol. Knowing what the scrawled lines look like from previous years on notepads and slips of paper, I guess it’s good they are sort of showable this year. (One may not look like much, but the grids make me happy. As with most things, juxtaposition adds something. I’m fine with that.) — In this post (I think, without checking back to see how much I cut), I mentioned that there are two things (at least) I planned to do this month and didn’t do at all. You’ve hit on one of them here without knowing it — after seeing your comment, I did one of those things for the first time this month. It was maybe the thing I most wanted to do, which would have had no tracking (other than photos) — and not once, until today. Words matter.
I think it still may be that it shows up in how I talk about this month, although the weeks are slimming from now to the end of the year, and they are weeks that I know have fractions of their normal time for writing. So, all I’ll say in this moment is that I am drawing early twilight, but I’m with you on the end of day.
I do think planning (or thinking about doing) is often more fun than the doing. In some cases, the doing is just anticlimactic (e.g., it was better in my head). In some cases, I think enjoying the “thinking about it” and never moving forward is a form of procrastination (for me). (Right now, I’m there.) In some case, that same moment is more about accepting reality. But, as you alluded, in some cases, the thinking itself is a tool, a sign of action and actively envisioning solutions or responses to whatever the circumstances are. We have to be flexible in how we assess our thinking and our activity or inactivity, reframing and reinterpreting. I wonder how much I can think and plan in hibernation… what would come of that ;)
Gloaming is a great word. I find it difficult to really hear the lifeline words. I don’t know how, in this time, I could possibly be striking that chord. But, if so, I am glad.
Ha ha I totally deserve that joke about timing. Touché. Last week’s delays, however, were not (entirely) due to my maddeningly futzy, perfectionist, ruminative, staccato process. I was gobsmacked by hurt, both physical (thanks to Sackler Inc. ensuring that no woman in America can get adequate pain medication), and the other kind, equally debilitating, from loss. Perhaps a wee bit of self-pity as well.
Here endeth the excuses.
I’m so happy that my missives are welcome, and land with all the un/intended inflections and refractions.
The Substack app is behaving oddly right now — cutting off the latter part of comments, abandoning the reader mid-sentence. So frustrating. I let it ride while reading other people’s remarks, but now that it cut off yours I’m heading to my laptop to see if the online version is any better. Grrrrr.
Sorry. I really was joking - and poking fun more at myself than anything because I can't seem to wait even though part of me advocates pacing. Lol. I can't tell you how sad (and somehow surprised) I am about the meds comment. (Someday, that will make sense with a photo that I still can't deal with - but is on my mental list of things.) I hope you got something worked out --- and that it's just healing and not a setback. The self-pity arena can be hard to find a way out of, but you'll continue to hear echoes and voices trying to pull you to the surface. I'm sure I'm not the only one throwing out the rope. I do hope this week is better and that you have some kind of help if you need it.
Weird about the comments being cut -- no link to expand? I mean all the good stuff is surely what is hidden. ;) No worries. Thank you for reading and commenting.