Those Who Listen Well
I am big believer in listening. I wrote about it here. Right now, I'm deeply grateful for the people in my life who listen well. Those who pay attention when I talk, hold my words with care, ask thoughtful questions and later reflect what I’ve said back to me.Recently, several people showed up as just such listeners. Their influence has marked my search for focus in the midst of material seduction in helpful, unexpected, ways. I'll name just two of these listeners here.
Friends & Mentors
Tim Musso has been a friend for over 10 years. He moved to Riverside the same year Ken and I did. When I finally woke up to my calling as a artist (I resisted it for SO long), it was Tim I asked to be my advisor. He gave unflinching feedback, asked great questions, and helped me choose the classes I needed to apply to grad school. He also wrote one of my letters of recommendation.Alison Ragguette is the chair of my committee. As a graduate student, I select a group that helps steer my work through the MFA program. I chose three full-time faculty and one adjunct. Alison is my point person. She offers a balance of insightful questions and steady confidence in my ability. Our conversations often include her saying I know you can do this, or You’re up to the challenge. She strongly supports making art that speaks the artist's heart, even if what it says is not easy, beautiful, or popular. In one day, I had both of these solid people listen to me and reflect. So. Grateful!
How They Helped
Alison
Would an assignment help? I nodded. Listen to your life. Write out five questions or five statements that surface, Alison suggested. Use these to determine what work to make for or include in your show. Sitting with the assignment I began jotting down ideas. I turned to my family of origin and what I experienced there. With the benefit of perspective, I realize that one thing I learned was how to pretzel myself. 
In efforts to accommodate the expectations of others, I learned emotional and sometimes physical contortions. (The above image being the exception: I did not disguise my feelings!)This pretzel-ing became a survival strategy. It fostered resentment and anger in me, but those feelings soon became normal. I believed I had to behave that way and feel that way. How many people relate to this?I began drawing pretzels in my journal. I thought of ways I muted my preferences, even my needs, to make my mother comfortable, or to gain my father's acceptance and approval. What if I invented an award ceremony with pretzel ribbons and pretzel sashes for outstanding emotional contortions?! The Pretzel Awards! Taking this back to Alison made for a lively conversation. (There will be no Pretzel Awards.)When we talked, I had some baking utensils on hand for a class assignment. A large flour jar. A smaller sugar jar. A glass measuring cup. I like to bake and these forms are so pleasing, so home-y. As a child I watched my mother make bread, cinnamon rolls, pies. But I could only watch because Mom wanted things to be perfect.How do the pretzel idea and the kitchen containers relate to your five statements? Alison asked. Oh, well. Hm. I had to think. Than the a-ha came: a combination of pretzeling myself, my mother’s precise baking practice, and the need to be good enough that saturated my childhood became the concept for a piece. BOOM!
Tim
An hour or two after talking to Alison, I saw Tim at an event he helped organize. How’s it going, Rebecca? he asked. In less than five minutes I explained my current quandary: need for focus. That was it for our chat before Tim had to step into his role as host for the evening. The next day I got a text: I thought of something after our conversation yesterday that I want to tell you. Whenever you are free, give me a call. When I called, Tim remembered a conversation we’d had over two years ago. He reminded me of something that I’d said that struck him. Now you don’t have to make work about this, he said, but I thought it was interesting because I’ve never experienced anything like it.Over two years ago I told Tim: I had to wait for them to die. Before fully embracing art, I had to wait until my parents were gone. Wait so they wouldn't spoil something so important, so deeply meaningful to me. Tim didn’t judged me, or my parents. He didn’t tell me that their fear came from a place of love and concern. He didn’t tell me to buck up and dismiss comments from those who don’t understand. Tim simply listened. And he remembered.
Combined Reflection
Based on the five statements I’ve written, I’m finding my way, finding my WHY for this solo show. I will make work drawn from the messages given to me by my father, my mother and the family I was born into. (And yes, this may still shift.) The content and conversations around this work are difficult. BUT, the making is pure flow! Between Alison, Tim and my journal I have the concept for the first piece for my thesis show. Quiet optimism describes my confidence in continued focus to birth the next idea and the next and the next. Stay tuned!
Next in this series, What Inspires Me. This means I’ll be paying attention, giving focus, and watching for what inspiration comes my way. Writing always helps me find out what I think. You're welcome to join me and use these prompts as you reflect on your life. They are:
- What I’m trusting…
- What I’m grateful for…
- What inspires me…
- How I’m practicing my faith...
Let me know how it works for you. xo