I’ve been taking a drawing class led by my friend Wendy Walker Silverman, and I have two things to say about it right now: First, what a deep pleasure it is to sit in a room with three other women, good music quietly playing in the background1, and practice doing something—in this case, contour drawing and the basics of value. Drawing our own hands, or a plant, or a statue. Thinking about negative space. None of us talking, just doing.
It’s almost like a mini silent retreat in the middle of my week. (I’ve been thinking I would enjoy a silent retreat, like this one at Kripalu.) An absolute beginner, I sometimes feel frustrated with the quality of my drawing, but it would feel gauche to pull out my phone and succumb to that easy distraction, and so I gamely work on, doing my best, knowing the stakes are lowwwww, and enjoying this two-hour break from Everything Else. My fellow students are key to this scenario: Drawing practice on my own at home would not be the same, even if there were no familial interruptions; even if I had the house to myself; even if I managed to stay off my &$^3! phone for two hours. I like being a focused person in that space with other people, attending to the same task as those around me. It almost doesn’t matter if I’m learning anything or getting “better” at drawing. (But…I am? A tiny bit? I have at least picked up some helpful tricks!)
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Second, Wendy urges us to think of what we look at not as “symbols”—objects we recognize as hand, chair, tree, eye—and strictly in terms of line, shape, areas of dark and light. This is harder than it sounds. It reminds me of Annie Dillard’s beautiful essay, “On Seeing,” in which newly sighted people describe what they perceive—not a hand, for example, but “something bright and then holes.” I wonder how I might translate this practice to other areas of life. As humans come of age, our perception is so founded on assumption, on what we’ve witnessed before, that it feels foolish to attend to the world in any other way. (And drawing on assumption is necessary to survival; it keeps us from, well, killing ourselves, among less extreme outcomes.) But what if we try thinking another way?
Otherwise, it’s all cicadas and weed2 around here as of late. I’ve enjoyed the Brood XIX cicada phenom—more than I enjoyed the G-fiber guys that invaded my neighb right about this time last year—and I’m glad I got to see something I recall from previous brood hatchings in my wild and precious life:
And yeah, the sound of their chorus has been truly remarkable, a high-pitched din, a sci-fi hum, that comes and goes according to some cicada logic that I’m not privy to. I love their irritable chattering, too, when you brush one off your arm, like they’re saying ok fiiiiine, chill out, i’m going, gah do you have to be such a HUMAN? Or maybe they’re just saying Oh hi! Sorry sorry! On I-24 the other day, it was cicadas like big snowflakes coming at the windshield, one high-speed, head-on encounter after another. They heavily freckled our crepe myrtle’s limbs for a few days, but are a bit less thick now; I hear we’re at the cicada halfway point. Because every single thing about the passage of time brings me nearly to tears these days, I know I’ll miss them when they’re gone.
And then I suppose I’ll pop one of these cannabis drops my friend Jen turned me onto, and train my attention on something else summery—lightning bugs, of course, and homemade ice cream, and the deer friends3 of Shelby duskwalks. I reckon I shouldn’t be talking about my weed consumption, because we’re in the midst of suspecting our teenager of experimenting with same, and trying to figure out how to approach this parenting challenge, and the stakes are highhhhhh, but how can I not find…amusement? significance? in this moment where I’m trying to convince her to just…slow her roll a bit. There will be years ahead for experimentation, my love, and you’ll be better equipped to make decisions about how to do that.
Meanwhile I’m like, oooh, what’s this newfangled microdosing system we have here; what a blessing upon my midlife! I keep trying to see our (Todd’s and my) situation—the one of parenting a young person in 2024—by the lines and colors and shapes, not the assumptions about Teens and Drugs.
I feel myself losing you right now. No, I’m not saying… or am I? 2024 is an interesting time to be facing this particular challenge: 60% of Tennesseans (!) believe recreational marijuana should be legal, daily use of weed has bested daily use of alcohol across the nation, it just got rescheduled (opening up the gates for medical research!!!), and you can’t walk five blocks without encountering the olfactory evidence of someone getting high. But like booze, weed’s better handled when you’re of a certain age, yeah? But all of that is a bit arbitrary; we don’t magically become mature creatures on our 21st birthdays.
But, but, but—I’m starting to bore myself a bit. We’ll make it through, we’ll do our best—Todd, me, the kid. (Also the cicadas: good job, fellas.) I can also feel my parenting self like a stiff husk, a shell I’m still dutifully and happily carrying, but there’s this other version of me wriggling beneath, ready for air.
What I also want to say is holy wow, for all the complications of raising a kid in These Times, am I stoked to be living in the era of perfectly proportioned THC and CBD pill-based delivery systems. Sure, pass me that trendy N/A cocktail; I’m in.
You know this is key for me. Wendy’s mix last Wednesday was all over the decades, and so good.
Also Neil Young, still. The obsession persists; I’m over the halfway mark in Shakey, and my GAWD, speaking of weed, if this book had a scent it would be an overpowering one of weed and tequila. Also the armpit stench of toxic masculinity! What a party of fuckers. But I still love Neil. And I was tempted to keep talking about Neil here this week. Would that turn you off or are you all in?
Believe me, whatever you think, I’m not done with this fixation and figuring it out. I’ve woken up every morning this week with a different Neil song in my head. He tried to do his best, but he could not.
Also Neil Young, still.
I love the drawing class! Need that in my life, too. Also, I went on one 4-day silent meditation retreat and it changed my life.
Being a mom and one of the other women in the class - this line really resonates!! “ trying to see our (Todd’s and my) situation—the one of parenting a young person in 2024—by the lines and colors and shapes, not the assumptions about Teens and Drugs”
We need to all look at the shapes and colors of life - and I want Wendy’s sweet calm voice reminding me to when I start to overthink. 💕