Surprise! A Dispatch from Wendy's Residency in the Woods
A wave and a lesson from MacDowell!
Heellllooo my friends! I miss you all a ton.
First, a huge thank you to the excellent GUT crew for keeping the creative fires burning with the GUT Permanent Collection lessons and exercises while I’m away at an artists residency working on a book. I feel so deeply fortunate to be able to carve out this time for deep, focused work, the likes of which I can’t remember doing since…since the internet? I’m grateful to the people of MacDowell, this incredible residency, for the opportunity and gift of this time, and everyone at home who made this time possible.
Suffice to say I’ve learned a tremendous amount about myself and my art practice—about the conditions I need to create for myself to do the kind of art and drawing I want to do into the future. I was shocked by what I discovered.
I will share more in the weeks and months ahead, but for now I am jumping in to say hello, and to share a practice I’ve been doing while away—one I look forward to bringing home with me.
My studio at MacDowell is deep in the woods with no internet and very little cell service. This means that my entire routine was out the window, and I had to rethink how I start my day.
The second day in my studio, I started drawing the view from my window while drinking coffee. I continued to do it every day (except for one—I can’t remember why). It became a ritual and routine that calmed and focused me as I moved into the rest of my day. It also provided a sense of accomplishment when my other work ended up amounting to crap. Which happens, and not infrequently.
When I started, I had no idea I would end up witnessing the seasons change. Nor that I would end up trying so many different mediums and styles. It was an unfolding mini-adventure every morning.
It taught me to begin each morning by slowing down instead of speeding up. That really changed how I approached the rest of the day, and my work.
The dailiness of it meant that I knew I’d do it again the next day, and it took pressure off whatever I was working on right then. Nothing was final. It was all part of an ongoing conversation and observation I was having with the woods. The trees. The melting snow. The sticks and leaves and stones.
Starting without the internet every morning—just analog tools, my eyes, and my hands—kept my nervous system calm and my breathing deep. There was no rush. There was time. Of course that will change when I’m back home. But still, starting my mornings like this will be grounding, even as I slide into a more fast-paced day, and life.
Alright, I’m going to save the rest for another time. While I can’t share exactly what I’m doing with this book, I wanted to share a little of what I’m doing with my drawing.
And I want to offer this idea: It’s not something that requires disappearing into the woods or being off the internet. Much like we do in our 30 Days of Drawing—a daily ritual of slowing down, looking, breathing, and reconnecting with our senses and the world—this is something we can return to every day.
Even just 10 minutes changes how we move through the rest of the 23 hours and 50 minutes that follow.
