The wordiness of life has been bugging me more than usual lately.

It’s been almost six weeks since I’ve written anything for this blog and I have to confess there were moments when I seriously considered abandoning the endeavor.  I’ve talked about these phases before. The unusual element this time is I abandoned other writing as well.

Initially I thought it was just my standard hermit reaction to a recent surge of activity with Tools-n-Gizmos.com, our online business. I’ve always been someone who seeks quiet in response to the noise of making-a-living – I suspect it’s a recuperative balancing act necessary for many introverts.

But business has leveled off (for some reason it always does as summer approaches), and my psyche is still predominated by a very specific contemplative thread on the value-of-quiet vs. the silliness-of-CHATTER. Even when out “conducting business” my people-watching is repeatedly drawn to others’ noisy exchanges of (to me) useless irrelevancies – a large part of many conversations it seems. Then I reflect on the potential irrelevancy (to others) of my own chatter. I apologize if this post is rapidly becoming a self-fulfilling demonstration.

Maybe it’s a life phase thing based on the over accumulation of redundant verbal experiences.  Buddy Kathy and I did one of our periodic art studio tours a couple of weeks ago. Since then, I’ve felt restlessly drawn to re-prioritize painting over writing. I am only a recreational painter and my attraction to painting has less to do with artistic inspiration and more to do with exploring  the wordless – fresh reflective ground. Quiet reflective ground.

Or perhaps it’s just that when us quiet types quiet down, we ultimately seek absolute zero. The call to and need for silence may be the basic hermit motivation. The lucky among us have arranged our lives to accommodate that need, at least periodically.  I keep coming back to Thomas Merton’s words at the end of the short video I posted about him:

“This solitude confirms my call to solitude. The more I’m in it, the more I love it. One day it will possess me entirely and no man will ever see me again.”

I’ve already discovered something by writing this much:  just as talking-about-love is not the same as love, talking-about-quiet is not the same as quiet.

I’ll keep you posted – I think.

So abstract expressionist Agnes Martin will grace the Most Memorable Hermits list even though one article I read about her insisted she was “not really a hermit.” (Hmm, “not-really-a-hermit” is exactly how I like to describe myself.)

Agnes Martin (1912 – 2004):

“To discover the conscious mind in a world where intellect is held to be valuable requires solitude, quite a lot of solitude. We have been very strenuously conditioned against solitude. To be alone is considered to be a grievous and dangerous condition.

“So I beg you to recall in detail any times when you were alone. You will find the fear that we have been taught is not one fear, but many different fears. When you discover what they are, they will be overcome. Most people have never been alone enough to feel these fears. But even without the experience of them, they dread them.”

“I often paint tranquility. If you stop thinking and rest, then a little happiness comes into your mind. At perfect rest, you are comfortable.”

“The best things in life happen to you when you’re alone . . . all the revelations.”

“I used to meditate until I learned to stop thinking . . .”

“I gave up all the theories.”

Click here to view the embedded video.

Special thanks to Deborah Barlow and her blog, Slow Muse.  Deborah has done a number of posts about Agnes Martin.  Deborah is a painter herself and her energetic, intelligent, and insightful blog never disappoints. I highly recommend Slow Muse (and Deborah’s other blogs) to anyone with an interest in art, poetry, the art world, the creative process, wisdom and art, the wisdom of art, the art of wisdom and . . . coincidentally, solitude as part of the creative process.

I realize it’s been almost three weeks since I posted.  That probably shouldn’t  bother me or anyone else at this point; though I do wish I hadn’t read all those best-blogging-practices articles before I started this blog. “Three posts per week plus three comments per week on other blogs” always sticks in my mind as the best goal.

Guess we know that’s not gonna happen.

The only difference between this break and others is: I didn’t preplan it – I just let it happen – or not happen.

What can I say:

Spring arrived unexpectedly in January this year so I’ve been outside more – landscape tending and just enjoying.

Been mulling a new book project.

Been indulging in a little traditional January evaluation of my life’s principal elements.

Deep? Nah – more  like deep’s opposite this time:  just being without discussion.

I’ve continued along on Twitter. Follow me there if you’re prone to dire imaginings when I don’t check in.  But other than Griz and the cats, I think I’ve gotten most friends and family trained to tolerate my periodic vanishings.  Haven’t I?

Even Griz and I have mutual consent for periodic unavailability.  And the cats – well, cats are innately autonomous.* I sometimes think their dependency is primarily my perception.

Interestingly, I do value connection and I have learned the blogosphere is about as comfy a connection as you’ll find for us hermits.  On the other hand, I tend to resist obligation (fabricated or otherwise); hence my discomfort with regular posting.

I know resistance to obligation is considered a form of pathology by some.  But these days most nonconformities are considered pathological by someone; and I think acknowledging, accepting and balancing one’s insanities is the key to good mental health for most of us.  So wacko or not, my little problem with obligation is not one of my life’s principal elements I plan to change anytime soon. It’s a part of why I value solitude – I can indulge it without bothering others most of the time.

After all, this is a blog from a hermit.

According to Lao Tzu: “A good traveller has no fixed plan & is not intent on arriving.”

I’ll be back soon.

*ASIDE FOR CAT LOVERS: I was always a dog person in the past. Our two semi-feral cats, Dodge (mother) and Dart (son) are the first cats with whom I’ve cohabited since my childhood.  Now that I’ve become enamored of cats and started to pay attention, I realize defining cats as aloof and autonomous is a generalization.  Cat personalities are as individualistic as human.

When I leave home for 24 hours or more, Dart, our wilder and more routinely-autonomous cat, celebrates my return with unabashed enthusiasm (very similar to the way dogs typically react).  Dodge, the more “civilized” and astutely manipulative cat (some socialization as a kitten), greets my return with initial disdain. She then combines deep purring with intermittent growls and feigned nipping – clearly expressing her pleasure over my return, but simultaneously demonstrating her disapproval of my recent, offensive desertion.

]]> http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/19/blogopause-with-aside-of-cat-blogging/feed/ 2 http://blogfromahermit.com/2009/12/16/loving-liking-living-with-the-vista-from-the-long-haul/ http://blogfromahermit.com/2009/12/16/loving-liking-living-with-the-vista-from-the-long-haul/#comments Thu, 17 Dec 2009 05:27:20 +0000 Trish http://blogfromahermit.com/?p=2911 Michelle Obama, to Oprah on The Christmas at the White House special (via psychobabble):

“I think we have a wonderful marriage. I love my husband.  He’s my best friend. But I always like to talk honestly about it because I think about other young couples who think there are no struggles to get here. And there are.  That’s part of it.  The message is – work through the struggles.  Start out with somebody that you respect and that you trust so that when you hit the bumps that are inevitable you always have that foundation. I tell Barack as mad as he can make me I look at him and I say, “I really LIKE you.  I like you, and I like the way you think and I like the person you.  It’s hard to stray too far, to stay mad too long, when the person is someone you like.”

I also liked psychobabble’s summation:

“This is exactly and absolutely right.  I’m so glad to see such a prominent national figure out there saying it in such a public forum.   This is a message young couples can’t possibly hear often enough.“

In a culture such as ours which so highly values equity, autonomy and independence, successful long-term relationships really are marvels of sorts.

Loving another person has always seemed easier to me than the living with part. Isn’t that true for most people?  It never ceases to amaze me how long Griz and I have been together. Perhaps my continuing awe about that is part of our endurance. Sure, respecting each others’ solitude is part of the equation for us – we spend a lot of time alone-though-in-proximity. But it’s not the whole success story.  Han Suyin’s statement: “Love from one being to another can only be that two solitudes come nearer,” applies to everyone, not just hermits.

The love which initiates spousal relationships is always refined and (if we’re lucky) enhanced by living together. Living together is really the platform where we discover whether we do, in fact, like each other well enough to last.  Just after college I lived with another Psyche major for nearly three years: In retrospect I realize John and I spent so much time sleuthing each others’ psyches, for a long time we completely overlooked the fact we really didn’t like each other.

Courtship in our culture can traverse quite rapidly from lust to love to living together. Children are often added to the equation before the couple has time to notice whether they like and respect each other. But like and mutual respect are actually the bedrock. They carry you through the disagreements and disappointments. They are the basis of a shared sense of humor and mutual appreciation. They allow you to celebrate your differences as well as your similarities.

We all change, as do our circumstances. Sometimes love is not sustainable through the changes and sticking together is certainly not always the answer. But love over the long haul does take you to new vistas you cannot perceive or even imagine when you first start out. In my opinion, the discoveries are well worth the (sometimes bumpy) ride.

I tell Griz  “I love you” every day, but I forget to remind him how much I like him, too:

“Griz, I like you. Have I mentioned lately what a stimulating pleasure it is to spend time in your company?”

“Now, please, leave me alone.”

Just kidding about that last part.  That’s something I rarely have to ask. Griz knows when I prefer solitude, because Griz knows me.

I often yearn for
The wordless place
Of quiet brushstrokes
And gently rustling nature,
Where falling backward
In total trust
Without direction
Feels as perfect
As its common opposite.
Where the restful process
Of simply being
Is creativity enough.

And this place,
By its simple perfection,
Without judgment, labels,
Goals or true effort
Can transform a nothingness
Into a somethingness
An objet d’art from and for
My unlonely spirit,
At the very least.

Though sometimes it rends
Manifest trinkets
Worth barter or trade
Readmission to the throng,
Symbolizing thereto
A “successful” and reasoned passage
Into and back out
Of Treasured Solitude.

But trinketless passages
To and from
And about the altered state
Between the two
Hold no less
Intrinsic value
For the True Lover
Of Solitude.

- Trish Wareing (c) 2009

Of course, it’s a good idea to have enough social moxie to get dressed and be civil when you make that run for groceries, collect the mail, or transact whatever business is necessary to maintain yourself and your independence.  A standard presentation of conformity at the right times keeps the SHOULD ADDICTS from getting curious or feeling obliged to come take a look – to rescue you or your soul.

It is hazardous to get so comfortable in your solitude that you forget about the should addicts. Difference is quite scary to should addicts. Mostly, they’ll think you should be more social;  because if you’re more social, they’ll know what you’re up to. And it’s their fear of the unknown that will send them after you – for whatever reason. So take a shower, wear clean clothes and a pair of shoes when you go to town. Don’t growl at the clerks and bureaucrats (too much). Small prices to pay to maintain the illusion that you understand what you should be doing – whether you’re doing it routinely or not.

If you’re lucky, your friends and relatives (especially adult children) will come to accept your hermitic idiosyncrasy. Maintaining at least some level of ongoing dialog nurtures this acceptance.  Presume when they voice their concerns about your situation (alone off in the woods or wherever) it is an expression of love not just curiosity about how you’re using their inheritance. Check in now and then so they know you’re okay and that you still care about them. Eventually they’ll accept you as that rarely-seen character of family lore.

But there is one SHOULD of solitude which I consider a rather important courtesy. Do some emergency back-up planning. Let some trusted other know where to find the keys, passwords, important personal paperwork and mechanical instructions for the property. Avoid burdening your kids or friends with an unexpected, long-distance rescue if something happens. At least try to grease the skids a little in case you exit the scene unexpectedly – whether temporarily or permanently.

It helps to strive for simplicity around the hermitage; but even if you can’t do that, at least finish up that “estate planning” paperwork you’ve been putting off and make sure whoever needs to find it, can find it.

Live the way you want, but try not to leave a big mess. It’s just rude.

Though it is conceivable O’Keeffe’s art might have remained obscure were it not for Stieglitz’ promotion [exploitation?], the movie barely touched on O’Keeffe’s love of solitude and her many years as an artist after Stieglitz’ death. O’Keeffe’s solitary life without Stieglitz in her beloved “far away” (New Mexico) contributed a great deal to her artistic notoriety.

But O’Keeffe was an artist and educated woman before she met Stieglitz. (They met after he showed some of her paintings in his New York gallery without her permission.) And although she lived much of her life pre-feminism, and may not have defined herself as such, O’Keeffe was a feminist in her own right. For someone growing up in a time when men still controlled most power, most assets and most women, she achieved a high level of self-sufficiency and independence.

O’Keeffe is most well known for her large paintings of flowers (with an erotic, vaginal imagery which she denied was intentional); and her representations of the New Mexico landscape and its elements. Further details of her biography are available at Wikipedia. The website of the The Georgia O’Keeffe Museum has several good slideshows of her art.

O’Keeffe made it to the Most Memorable Hermits list because she valued solitude and found she could best experience it through her own creative process. This discovery occurred before she moved to the wilds of New Mexico (and before she met Stieglitz). This O’Keeffe quotation about the creation of her art is from 1915 (pre-Stieglitz):

“There was no one around to look at what I was doing, no one interested, no one to say anything about it one way or another. I was alone and singularly free, working into my own unknown – no one to satisfy except myself.”

O’Keeffe didn’t like to sign her paintings and rarely named them herself. I suspect she is an artist who would have painted, and painted what she wanted, whether or not her efforts ever gained notoriety.

She was not a total recluse. By the time she moved to New Mexico, she was a woman of means who could hire assistance with her property. But she did learn to drive so she could travel into the far away on her own, with her paint supplies in the back of her car. Outside of her paintings – perhaps her own words give us the best sense of who she was:

“I have things in my head that are not like what anyone has taught me – shapes and ideas so near to me – so natural to my way of being and thinking that it hasn’t occurred to me to put them down.”

“One day I found myself saying to myself…  I can’t live where I want to, I can’t go where I want to…I can’t do what I want to.  I can’t even say what I want to.  I decided I was a very stupid fool not to at least paint as I wanted to and say what I wanted to when I painted, and that seemed to be the only thing I could do that didn’t concern anybody but myself.”

“It was all so far away – there was quiet and an untouched feel to the country and I could work as I pleased.”

“I know now that most people are so closely concerned with themselves that they are not aware of their own individuality, I can see myself, and it has helped me to say what I want to say in paint.”

“Filling a space in a beautiful way. That is what art means to me.”

“I feel there is something unexplored about woman that only a woman can explore.”

“I know I can not paint a flower, I can not paint the sun on the desert on a bright summer morning, but maybe in terms of paint color, I can convey to you my experience of the flower or the experience that makes the flower of significance to me at that particular time.”

Click here to view the embedded video.

Special thanks to Oregon hermit, artist John C., who recommended Georgia O’Keeffe for the Memorable Hermits list.

*Footnote: One irony of the Lifetime Channel’s ostensibly “pro-woman” worldview (and one reason I rarely wander there) is Lifetime’s over-emphasis on women’s successes and failures as a factor of the men in their lives – romance. On the other hand, I do appreciate the difficulty of marketing a film of a lone woman wandering around the desert with her painting supplies.  Most successful desert movies seem to require lots of horses and explosions.

Then I woke up.

But I know what prompted the dream: yet another hermit researcher found this blog and hoped for an interview with a “contemporary hermit” including a visit to “the hermitage.” I suppose that’s what I get for being a peculiar being.

After the first request, I expanded my About page in hopes of disqualifying me from any further research. But it turns out one big attraction to many current researchers is how the internet has improved the lot of us hermit-types, allowing us access to the world with only a minimal amount of live interaction required. (Which is true for everyone, not just hermits – so, duh?)  But apparently the new About page (which includes a reference to our online business) only exacerbated the researchers’ curiosity, even though I was trying to clarify the fact that although I value solitude, I’M MORE OF A HERMIT WANNABE than a real hermit.

So, theoretically, the internet is creating more hermits per capita. Therefore, my participation shouldn’t be necessary for the research, anyway. Right? But, according to one student, many [smart] hermits who are active online use pseudonyms, and are thus more difficult to track down. I thought about using a pseudonym before I started this blog and probably would have were it not for the admonitions of my blogging coach, Steve Mays. And I’m not really trying to hide – I just prefer not to be found. There is a difference and it’s a difference which I felt (at least initially) justified using my real name.

Generally, these student requests do give Griz and me a good chuckle though. After all, successful hermit research has got to be a bit difficult (if not downright risky) for obvious reasons: notoriety and company are anathema to the motivation and lifestyle of most hermits.  But even though I appreciate the humor of these contacts, my gut reaction still leans toward using the queries as an excuse to delete this blog and retreat from blogging all together.  Anyone who follows this blog  knows I often hang in by a fragile thread.

Actually, I am not opposed to answering students’ questions via e-mail, provided the researcher volunteers some verifiable references about who they are. But requests for a live interview and visit feel a bit presumptive and invasive given any hermit’s preference for privacy and solitude. To quote myself from an earlier post:

“Hermits (like sasquatches) are also unlikely to aggregate in quantifiable numbers near universities, so valid hermit research becomes even more problematic. I have no doubt one could recruit a few rugged grad students to scour the hills for rumors of hermitages. But even if the grad students find the hermits – how happy do you think the hermits will be about it? (See my post on curmudgeonly misanthropes here). I assure you even the happiest hermit can put on an unhappy face in defense of his privacy.)”

Fortunately, Griz and I have a locking gate, a good security system and (WARNING, WARNING) are well-armed and firearm proficient. We aren’t hunters and we’re actually more pacifists than big gun advocates, but we are practical. Calling 911 is one thing, expecting a timely response out here is something else entirely. The fire power is a solitude and self-sufficiency thing.

Maybe I’ll create a FAQs page here to help out the students. I am a big fan of higher education, though admittedly some avenues of “research” (and research grants) leave me metagrobolized.

And until we find a trap baited with a good bottle of riesling, chocolate and a cheese plate – or we notice someone constructing a blind with telephoto lens along the property line, I guess we don’t have too much to worry about.

Of course, we still have the cell phones. As a female who logs a fair number of rural highway miles alone, I’m particularly fond of the safety aspect. But we don’t often give out our mobile numbers; and in spite of our overall high-tech-ness, we are consistently resistant to smart phones and texting. We have the services available, but we prize our disconnectedness too much to bother.  After all, the more avenues with which you connect to others, the more avenues with which they connect right back. It always comes back to that solitude thing.

Griz and I use our cell phones most frequently to talk with each other – not only when we’re miles apart, but for pings from opposite ends of the property. As I’ve said before, we allow each other a great deal of alone time, even when we’re in relative proximity.

Other programmed numbers are almost exclusively close friends and family. At night, I set my cell phone to vibrate and place it beside the bed. If there’s a loved-one emergency, that’s the number they’ll use. I’m a high-quality, but fairly light sleeper. I hear the vibration – more than that is just too jarring.

But every so often, especially after a flourish of social activity and demands (like this August into September), I go through a phase of unconsciously leaving my cell phone by the bed throughout the day. This week I’ve missed several important (though not time-critical) calls as a result of this unconscious, don’t-call-me behavior. If you’re a person that values or needs solitude, you probably understand this. If you’re one of those never-misses-anything, well-connected types, such an oversight probably seems totally irresponsible.

Us hermits find ways to keep the cord cut. Our internal peace is dependent on it. If for some reason we’re not circumstantially allowed our ration of solitude – we find ways, consciously or unconsciously, to get it back. When we crave our solitude, we forget our cell phones, we “accidentally” leave the land line off the hook, we cancel appointments, miss meetings, and we just don’t show up for that party we said we “definitely” wouldn’t miss. Our friends learn tolerance.

I always know when I’ve deprived myself of my allotment of solitude:  there’s my cell phone, sleeping-in at bedside, vibrating away to itself.

I apologize for my extended blogging absence.  I thought I’d get back to blogging with more zeal once the August frenzy subsided. But the frenzy was more intense than anticipated and it actually extended into the first of week of September. I’m recovering now. With the cell phone sleeping in, we’ve had a very quiet week. I’ve reconnected with my trees and my Self.  I’ll try to be a better blogger.

…the hermit needs a break – again.

In reality I’ll probably only get about a week of solitude out of the deal. Summer typically brings a more active social schedule to our household – living, breathing interaction, not just the virtual kind. This year, August’s comings and goings will stretch our hermitic limits.  What quiet time I find, I’ll be savoring without report.

I hope my loyal friends will take no offense.  Just in case you hadn’t noticed yet – it’s the nature of the beast.

See you in September.