Finding Myself in the Desert
I’ve been taking a break from the digital world, trying to focus on what is real and in front of me. Trying to avoid the distractions of click-bait and outrage. As a result, I’ve also been neglecting my online presence (which at times feels like a projection or an illusion). But I have so much to say, so much to share, so much to process. By not sharing its gotten to feel too much like isolating, and when I do that I spiral downward. So I’m looking to find balance. I feel that part of my calling as an artist is to document, witness, explore and create. That calling also involves sharing the experience with those who need to see, and these posts are for those people.
I’ll be attending an intensive ‘Artist’s Bootcamp’ in Spain in a few months with several amazing artists leading workshops. One artist’s work and words resonate with me, Edward Povey. On his Instagram page, he shared a post stating that an artwork begins by finding something fascinating and interesting. Something that piques curiosity and needs to be explored. The day that I read it, I was on my way to the desert to do a bit of hiking and sketching. I’ve been feeling void of direction and inspiration, and his words were exactly what I needed in that moment. I expressed this in a comment on his page, and he replied, “That is just wonderful, Karrie! I suspect that the desert is the perfect place for visions and dreams and nightmares and hallucinations, all of which are the stuff of the world that we hear at night, tapping on the other side of our bedroom wall.”
I sat on a chunk of granite on an exposed mountain and wrote, while gusts of sand blew up the mountainside. “These desert winds are the emotions of the ethereal; swirling, pausing, raging. The air is tangible with djins and spirits. Bellicosely hurling grains of sand through my hair, my clothes, my soul… scouring and exposing. This, Mr. Povey, is indeed where they live. I’m here to connect with this current without being swept over a ledge by it. I balance and hunker and hold on desperately to my hat lest it be stolen in a gust of passion or mischievousness. The things that hide in the safety of darkness in the human psyche have no need to hide here. They frolic in the blinding white sun, pure and bare and uninhibited. In the vast expansive desert, there is nothing to hide from and nowhere to hide.
I’ve been coming to this mountainside for many years, to this same silent space. On this day I sat on the same rock for almost an hour. As in past years, a pair of ravens spotted me and approached, circling above in curiosity. In this completely barren landscape, I am as unusual to them as they are to me. We share the same existence for a moment, being rare movement in the nothingness. The blackness of their graceful bodies contrasts with the pale blue sky. Little pockets of shadow gliding between me and the sun. Messengers, desert spirits, or totems, their presence is powerful and comforting. They eventually move on.