THE MASTER'S TOUCH

Every now and then you get the chance to meet a true Master – someone whose light shines so radiantly your own can’t help but glow a bit brighter in their presence.  I’ve met several in my life, including musicians, swamis, martial artists, and Olympians.  What I’ve noticed about these men and women is, they may have different skills, different crafts they excelled at, but there is a similarity in their nature.

Last weekend, six friends got together at our cottage to learn how to paint.  Sandie had painted forty years ago, Wendy had tried it for the first time last year, and four of us (including me) had never learned a thing about painting with acrylics. 

It all started with Wendy who spent a day with our neighbour, Shelley Houghton, last summer.  Shelley is a retired elementary school teacher and knows how to get kids – and adults – to succeed.  When I saw Wendy’s painting on Facebook I couldn’t believe the declared newbie had accomplished it in a day!  At a campfire last fall, a group of us convinced Shelley to try to work her magic again so we planned a fun ‘girl’s day’ around it with a pot luck lunch and bubbly and appetizers at the end of the day to celebrate.

Meanwhile, Shelley is not only an outstanding teacher, she is also an award winning painter.  She recently won Mississauga’s Art Battle and is heading to the regional finals.  If you haven’t heard of Art Battle, it is one of those wonderful cultural events that brings patrons up close to watch the art process unfold.  Twelve painters compete in three twenty-minute rounds and the audience votes for the best in each round and the best over-all.  Yes, twenty minutes to create a painting means the artists – some professional and others up-and-coming – have to get to the point quickly - not a lot of time for small brush details.

Our day started weeks ago when we submitted photos to Shelley for approval.  I sent three: a bunch of wild daisies, a hay field, and a photo I’d taken of my husband drinking coffee by the lake.  To my surprise, the one she thought I’d have the most success with is the one with a person in it. Yikes! 

We all started off with a solid background - mine was yellow – and then began adding elements.  Mireille was a ‘dabber’, dotting her canvas with colour for her fall landscape. I was a ‘stroker’, waving my brush side to side, blending the hues to create sky and water.

We had lessons on how to use the brushes, like scumbling with and elephant brush to create misty areas and clouds, and using a fan brush to create textures for pine branches and bark.  I couldn’t get over the results we were getting.  With Shelley’s easy guidance and firm knowledge, each one of us was producing work we never knew we were capable of.

And then, after lunch, I had to paint in my husband from behind as he looked out over the lake. I would have had a panic attack if I hadn’t come to trust Shelley and her process.  She showed me how to map it out and suggested I cheat a bit and sketch it on a piece of paper first then use some tracing paper to get the outline in.  I felt myself wanting to freak out so kept relaxing myself using my breath and softening my gaze.  Dab by dab the curly hair was done and stroke by stroke the clothes were mostly done.  Next was painting a hand holding a coffee mug.  Help! She calmly showed me how to imagine it and gave me a plate of paints with dabs of red, yellow, white, blue and brown to make the flesh colour.  With a few fixes it was okay – not great, but okay.  Then standing back, something wasn’t quite right.  Where was the other hand?  In the photo it was out of sight but in the painting it didn’t look right, so we added a right hand waving. I was gaining confidence so had a bit more fun playing with it. After ten minutes or so of more tweaking I was done my masterpiece, and so were most of the others.

The bottles were uncorked, the ribs heated and it was time to celebrate – celebrate the works we created, celebrate the feelings of accomplishment, and celebrate the Master in our midst.

They say you can tell how great a Master is not by how many students he or she has but by how many Masters he or she creates.  With easy laughter and firm support, Shelley Houghton is brilliantly leading the way for many to shine brightly! Thank you Shelley!

SAVOURING

Waiting in line for a coffee at the donut shop, I was in awe of all the wonderful combinations of sweetness in the glass case.  The colours, the textures and the shapes were all just so delightful.  How would one pick?!

And it wasn’t just in the restaurant, but all around there seemed to be so many possibilities for wonderment: the volatile weather, the bubbly children, the perceptive artists, and the shifting seasons, how could anyone get bored?!

Some people like to compare the different times of year and even have their favourites. But I’m just in awe of the variety.  Here we are at the beginning of winter, and with the snow fallen, there is a surrounding stillness that returns me to my garden. With the busyness of the season, I can reach out and invite it in at any moment to be nurtured. And with the sun so low in the sky, my photographer’s eye delights in the softer lighting. Wow!

Cozy sweaters, hearty stews, snowshoeing where I couldn’t hike: there is just so much to appreciate in this and every season and every moment.

I’ve found happiness comes from savouring what is, right here, right now.  I could wish it was still summer with its care-free days and warm, short nights, but then I would miss out on the toboggan rides and the warmth and awe of the roaring fireplace.

One of the opposites of savouring is comparing.  If I compare my body, house, clothes or whatever to others, I’m limiting my experience to my critical mind. But when I’m savouring life and all it has to offer, my whole body is open and humming.  This is nirvana, this is bliss – being present and fully alive in the moment.

Another opposite of savouring is expecting.  When I’m expecting people to act or look a certain way, I set myself up for limited experiences and probable disappointment. It is only by savouring what is that intimacy is possible. And those moments, I find, are what make life so precious.

Savouring, I am noticing as I write this, is about connecting and having a deep relationship, be it with a good friend, a guitar or an ice cream cone.  It’s something visceral that I can actually feel in my body.  Mm, mm, good!

Comparing is more of an analytical process that happens in the cognitive mind and can easily be manipulated. For instance, whether you consider someone pretty or not depends on what you’ve learned from the culture you were raised in.  But if you savour your relationship with that person, their beauty will shine whether they are wearing a tuque, sombrero or hijab.

This time of year, infused with the spirit of giving and with our dear ones close by, it feels only natural to stop and let every cell in our body rejoice in its aliveness.

What a sweet, abundant life we all have.

How could we not savour it?!

Introduction

 

Welcome and welcome back. My name is Marci Mandel and I wrote a similar column in the now-defunct Highlands Communicator. The previous one’s title changed through the years as did my state of mind: from Trundling Along the White Trail, to Scampering Along the White Trail, and finally to Dancing Along the White Trail.  Five years ago, I thought the ultimate title would be Flying Along the White Trail, but now I see things a little differently.

I live in the Queen Elizabeth Wildlands (QEW) Provincial Park at the south-west corner of the county. When my husband and I first bought here in 1992, we were out back exploring and found white paint slashes on the rocks and white tags in the trees.  Not knowing what they were, we forevermore called it The White Trail. It wasn’t until stopping in to the Hike Ontario office that I found this was actually the wilderness section of the vast Ganaraska Hiking Trail system that comes up from Lake Ontario at Port Hope then goes over to Glen Huron, just south of Georgian Bay.

I spent over eleven years walking Morgan, our Great Pyrenees, on, around and across the trails through all seasons and weather and gained an intimacy with the life force saturating it. I learned how to attune myself to Nature and connect with her in a profound way. (I capitalize Nature because I’ve come to know it as a distinct presence.)  When I can let go and relax into her loving arms, a whole new realm opens in which all I need is provided: wisdom, belonging, and adoration. Yes, adoration. Laying on the grass or standing under the stars, or floating on the water, I can feel a presence that’s telling me I too am a gift, I too belong in this infinitely magical universe.

 

 

So what’s this column about?  You may have figured that out already, but indulge me with a story. My five year-old grandson was up for the March break so I borrowed the Amazing Spiderman DVD from the library. He loved the movie and watched it over and over and over again. About the sixth time, I sat down and watched the ending with him and was surprisingly moved. 

It was the first day of college and Peter Parker entered a lecture hall.  He walked in late and saw his true love at a desk near the top.  She saw him.  He longingly looked at her.  She longingly looked at him.  Meanwhile in the background, the professor was introducing the literature course and said something like: it’s been said there are fundamentally only ten different plot lines- but really there is only one: Who am I?

This struck me because it’s what I have always written about: “Know thyself.”

So, who am I? To begin with, I am a woman in my mid-fifties, a wife, a step-mother, nana, writer, photographer, movie-maker, baker, swimmer, friend, sister, daughter, musician, adventurer, canoeist, and explorer of life. I am also so much more.

With this new column, my intention is to explore something new.  In the past I’ve written about how I have evolved in my understanding of life: learning about connection, energy and awareness. This time I will try to focus on and evolve in my appreciation of life and all it holds.  If life is a gift, is then not everything in it also a gift?  Is it possible that suffering and loss can be gifts?

Right now, as I am being swarmed by hungry and thirsty biters, I have to wonder about my theory.  But hey, that should make it interesting! 

Let’s see.

 

 

If you’re interested in past columns, they can be found at: http://whitetrail.blogspot.ca/