In Praise of Slow Work and Choosing Presence Over Production
(The subtle art of not giving a fig about algorithms)
This is one of the last photos in my camera roll. It’s a capture of one of the “pages” in my still-unfolding Advent Art Journal.
A couple of weekends ago I hosted an Advent Art Journal-making workshop at my home church and the ladies showed up ready to PLAY. The hum of that room full of creative energy was palpable. It was in a word—glorious. I opened our time with a few words about the value of making, about the creative impulse that resides in every human heart inherited from the Creator, and the health benefits of exercising not only our creativity with our minds, but including our bodies in the work as well. Only an hour before the workshop began, I opened up my phone to look for a specific scripture and was prompted to read an article about the health benefits of “doodling”. I laughed because technology was either spying on me (likely), or God was offering me a little encouragement for the message I was about to share (also likely).
Whether that link appeared in my search window by Divine order, or some other source slid it in front of me. I carried from it, the nuggets of Truth I needed: Engaging with art, creativity, play, and making, feeds our whole person—body, mind and soul.
Those hours we spent reflecting on Advent and the person and story of Jesus were holy hours indeed, and we came away with the treasure of not only our work, but also a few more lines to the unfinished hymn that is still being written in, and through each of us this season.
When I host my Art Journaling workshops, one of the first things I share is that this experience is not about the product at the end. This practice is about the practice. It’s about the slow work of uncovering what is churning beneath the surface, it’s about listening for the Spirit, and trusting that the inclination towards specific color, shape and texture is purposeful and part of something bigger than what we might suspect or see on the surface.
I’m weary of the pressure to produce. I’m exhausted by the frantic dance of an ever-changing algorithm that manipulates and contorts good people, and good work, into products. My own personal work these days is more hidden and slower than it used to be. Maybe I’m old, or maybe I’m becoming more thoughtful about what I choose to share and put out into the world. Maybe it’s both.
My work and words have been turned against me before by unexpected sources, and if you’ve suffered that kind of intimate blow, I don’t have to tell you how hard it can be to come back from a wound like that. I don’t have to tell you how hard it can be to decide to share anything with anyone—how much more guarded you are in taking the risk.
Art Journaling has been a surprising path towards healing from hurts such as those. In the car the other day my husband commented that he felt like my “spark” was returning to me, and I acknowledged that I feel it too. A quiet flame burning a once-cooled wick. I told him plainly that Art has been such a huge part of that healing. But I’m not talking about art that you see. I’m not talking about art that’s being sold or marketed. I’m talking about art made in the hidden place of my own church basement, or art room here in my home. I’m talking about art made in community at Refine, and at
studio, and Jeanne’s house and even in my kitchen. These spaces and places have helped make me brave. They’ve given me tools and made space for the process over the product. These are spaces that understand the immeasurable value or Presence—something an algorithm doesn’t give a fig about.This work is unfinished. This Advent season so far has been about being present to my kids, my family, my friends, and my local community. Most of my time has been spent doing things with the people in front of me and not much else. I could lament this, and the other day when I felt the grumble rising in me, about the time that feels as if it’s slipping through my fingers, I caught myself. We were born of a God who valued Presence over product. We are made to show up to the places we are invited to, and the hidden holiness of being where you actually are makes no sense in a world that wants you to spin like a dervish.
My Advent Art journal is a slow work that might not won’t be finished by Christmas. I’m okay with that. It’s not a product. The whole thing is a process. What matters is that I show up to it, that I am present to God and myself as I play and create and that I lean in to the quiet space of making and let that fan the flame that has been re-kindled.
The other day as I was looking at my pages, and that bright copper splash that shines against the darker blues, I was reminded of a quote from Annie Dillard’s book, Pilgrim At Tinker Creek. She wrote,
“The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside from a generous hand.” She continued, “It is dire poverty indeed when a man is so malnourished and fatigued that he won’t stoop to pick up a penny. But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. It is that simple. What you see is what you get.”
Presence is a simplicity defining this season here. Advent constantly turns our gaze towards the God who sent His son to be present among us. Choosing slow work and presence over product might look like a form of poverty to a fast-paced metric-driven world. Okay, that’s fine. Look for the copper peeking through the grass. Stoop to your knees and take hold of the generous hand that is extended to you in Christ.
What are you working on this season? What are you being present to that perhaps looks like a kind of poverty to the world?
This work from your Advent art journal is stunning! Thank you for the many ways you share, Kris. You always inspire me, friend.
Thanks for this, Love! I needed it. And I need to carve out that “ me” time that seems to be stolen by errands and keeping house for small group almost every week etc. etc.
Your writing has reminded me that even in retirement, we can spend so much of ourselves, we are soul-starved, tired, and “ running on empty.”
I just know you are encouraging others as you do your old Momma…Love you so❤️!