Making Creativity Central

+ a workshop at Maha Rose this week!

The lake in upstate New York, age 5

Hi friends,

Since childhood, I have wanted to write and make things. The other day, I found a photo of myself at an artist residency my aunt worked at in the 90s. I’m sitting at a sewing machine, presumably working on some craft-like situation. My memories of visiting that residency are the earliest I have of being in touch with my inner creative life. Someone was always doing something creative, and I learned that people could create whole worlds when they set their minds to it.

We started visiting my aunt at the residency when I was about 4 or 5 years old during their intercession (the week between sessions when most of the artists were gone). It was my absolute favourite place on earth. It’s on a large expanse of land in the Adirondack Mountains, and there was a long drive up to the main house (following a 5-hour drive from NYC). We went every summer until I was 12, when my aunt left her job. It was a major loss to no longer have access to the magic I felt each year by the lake, but the memories I have remain firmly imprinted as some of the best of my childhood.

On the long drives, my mum and I would listen to audiobooks (on actual cassette tape), the subject matter of which was mostly over my head. She loved to listen to anything by PG Wodehouse, Edith Wharton, Henry James or Oscar Wilde, advanced authors for a 5-year-old. We would sing. I would whine. I remember, so vividly, the mounting feeling of excitement I felt as we drove in. I could hardly bear it: I would get full-body anticipation, resulting in total glee. I’d jump up and down in the back seat, ogling the beautiful birch trees that lined the drive as we neared the big house, ready to welcome us with its warm kitchen and gaggle of people.

The excitement came not only from gathering with our family members, the artists who would stay between sessions — painters, writers, poets, playwrights —  and the staff, who seemed to me to have the coolest job on planet earth, but also from the gargantuan walk-in refrigerator that you could set up a sun recliner in if you so wished. In it was a near-constant vat of cookie dough that I could spoon directly out of (albeit clandestinely). The resident chef, Peggy, would often let me help her make the cookies for the crowd — and in her kitchen, I discovered a love of cooking (mostly related to eating cookies).

Then there were, of course, the canoes we could use at will, the ping pong tables in the boat house and moments with my uncle who attempted (operative word attempt) to teach me how to fish at the end of the dock. It came from being able to play long games of charades or gin rummy at night and wander around helping my aunt with various jobs that needed doing in the week between sessions. It was there, in the office at a typewriter on a hot July day, that I wrote my first awful poem — inspired by the lyrics of Mariah Carey and entitled ‘Sometimes’. It was about feelings, obviously. There was seemingly endless fun to be had during those weeks.

I loved it also because of the possibility I saw before me. Exposure to all these artists gathered in one place as a kid showed me an alternative approach to life. There were people making art — for a living? And they got to live in cute cottages by a beautiful lake and get served all their meals for a summer? Looked like a pretty sweet deal to my young eyes. When I think about when I knew I wanted creativity to be central to my life, I usually think back to my early teens when I got into photography, and my mum helped me set up a dark room in our spare toilet. Or when I took piano and guitar lessons and never practised yet felt near constant guilt precisely because I never practised. Or when my English teachers saw promise in my writing and encouraged me to keep at it. But really, it was always present: my entire family loved to make things simply for the love of it.

I have had this near-constant underlying urge to keep creating in various forms as life has continued. But it’s not always easy to let your creative freak flag fly — nor can it feel safe to express yourself. In my own life, I’ve faced considerable blocks to allow myself to make creativity central, despite the desire and longing. And I’ve found that, at times, committing to creativity and expressing oneself can be terrifying. If I had asked all those artists I was in awe of about their inner critic, I’m sure I could have filled a book with their stories. Often we need practices to help us unleash the creativity inherent to every one of us, in whatever form that might take.

This is why I’m leading a new workshop at Maha Rose called Wild Voices this week. One of the reasons I teach Body Temple Dance (and breathwork/pranayama) is because it helps people somatically release emotions that perhaps they don’t have immediate access to, and in turn, it helps them to feel more creatively alive and more equipped to express themselves. Pairing this practice with a writing workshop felt like a good way to start the year. And a nod to the creativity I’ve been trying to unlock within me from age 7 when I wrote that poem.

There is true wisdom available in the body when we get slow enough to notice it — and there are also valuable release valves available when we move fast enough to circumvent the thinking mind. That’s the tension that we’ll be working with in this workshop. Mostly, it will be a fun way to welcome the darker days of winter in a community. Movement, and especially dance, can help access the language of your heart and emotions, allowing your body to speak its truth. This workshop is open to all levels of dance experience and will be accessible to all bodies and abilities. Tell your friends and lovers, come with a friend or a lover.

Details:
🐸Jan 31
🦋Maha Rose Brooklyn
🪱7-9 pm

With love,

Nora x