When I was in Tasmania in April I joined my hosts at Ridgeline Pottery in their morning walk. They like to walk laps on a trail around their property. I didn't always do all the laps and sometimes I struck out on my own, crossing the street for different views, but the habit of walking allowed us to notice the sunrise, the patterns on the water in the distant lagoon, the color and texture of bark on the gum trees. The rhythm and alignment that grew out of our walks became part of my sense of place, the seeds of unconscious, invisible memories were planted through the habit of steps. Today in Virginia I walked at the end of the day--my home habit--and the verdant tones of my wet local landscape were a contrast with the soft grey greens of autumnal dry Tasmania. Exploring my memory of place and time through making pots reminds me how giving myself to one place gives me back to myself, back to my Virginia steps and the nuances of my own materials and kiln.
"Suddenly I came out of my thoughts to notice everything around me again-the catkins on the willows, the lapping of the water, the leafy patterns of the shadows across the path. And then myself, walking with the alignment that only comes after miles, the loose diagonal rhythm of arms swinging in synchronization with legs in a body that felt long and stretched out, almost as sinuous as a snake...when you give yourself to places, they give you yourself back; the more one comes to know them, the more one seeds them with the invisible crop of memories and associations that will be waiting for when you come back, while new places offer up new thoughts, new possibilities. Exploring the world is one the best ways of exploring the mind, and walking travels both terrains."
― Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking
― Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking
Leave a comment