. I’d had enough, I was overwhelmed and claustrophic in that space. I just started walking not knowing where I was going but just to be moving. My backpack had a rip in the top and twice someone tried to put their hand in and rip it from my back. I was well and truly at my wits end. Then I spotted the ocean at the end of the street. All other plans were gone. I needed to be by the sea.
Read MoreThe Haute Route
It was inevitable that I would end up in the Alps for winter. I managed to get a job at a very fancy ski chalet in La Clusaz and my friend Trudie was just down the road in the next village. About halfway through the season she asked me if I’d be interested in doing a ski tour at the end of the season. She was looking at doing the Haute Route with her partner at the time. My first questions were, “what is ‘ski touring’? And what is the ‘Haute Route’?” She explained and of course I was all in.
Read MoreA Detour from Painting
I thought that art and painting wasn’t present at this time in my life however…
Read MoreCatching the Bar
.My plan was to turn up, tell them they needed a mural on a certain wall and that I was the one for the job. A glance at my portfolio and they would be instantly convinced to say yes. That was the plan anyway.
Read MoreA Giant Leap from the Trapeze (read first blog post: The Trapeze Artist)
As I sat there in the common room that lunchtime listening to the complaints and troubles of my friends, I thought to myself 'if you guys hate this so much and don't want to be here why don't you do something about it?' Then it crossed my mind, I hate this, I'm over being here, I'm ready for the next thing, why don't I do something about it.
Read MoreAdventure
One of the greatest adventurers that I have had the pleasure to meet doesn’t wear head to toe khaki, she doesn’t own a flap hat or a ‘leatherman’ nor does she have all the latest and greatest gadgets…
Read MoreTo the Future Artists
Over the course of the last few Art Escape weekends a handful of people asked my advice on becoming a full-time artist. I hope my answers at the time were helpful but here’s a more thoughtful response now I’ve had time to reflect on the last decade and the years before.
Read MoreEn Plein Air
This was my favourite plein air painting from back in the sea kayaking days. The beach was busy this day and so hot. I had lots of kids sit with me, they got sand in my paint and spilt my water but were the best company and quality control.
Read MoreThe Trapeze Artist
I was 19, I had just finished a three month contract with an outdoor company in Italy, I had the cash that I’d made (about 500 euro), my rock climbing gear and some clothes - no wallet, no cards (they were stolen by a pickpocket the day I arrived), no phone (this was 2004), no return ticket. I was ready for a big adventure. I had no idea where to begin. A friend gave me the following little story. It’s been the best thing I’ve ever read and is as relevant today as it was then so I thought that’s the best way to begin this blog.
The Trapeze Artist by Danaan Parry
Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I'm either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along or, for a few moments in my life, I'm hurtling across space in between trapeze bars.
Most of the time, I spend my life hanging on for dear life to my trapeze-bar-of-the-moment. It carries me along at a certain steady rate of swing and I have the feeling that I'm in control of my life.I know most of the right questions and even some of the answers.
But every once in a while as I'm merrily (or even not-so-merrily) swinging along, I look out ahead of me into the distance and what do I see? I see another trapeze bar swinging toward me. It's empty and I know, in that place in me that knows, that this new trapeze bar has my name on it. It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart of hearts I know that, for me to grow, I must release my grip on this present, well-known bar and move to the new one. Each time it happens to me I hope (no, I pray) that I won't have to let go of my old bar completely before I grab the new one.
But in my knowing place, I know that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar and, for some moment in time, I must hurtle across space before I can grab onto the new bar.
Each time, I am filled with terror. It doesn't matter that in all my previous hurtles across the void of unknowing I have always made it. I am each time afraid that I will miss, that I will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless chasm between bars. I do it anyway. Perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call the faith experience. No guarantees, no net, no insurance policy, but you do it anyway because somehow to keep hanging on to that old bar is no longer on the list of alternatives. So, for an eternity that can last a microsecond or a thousand lifetimes, I soar across the dark void of "the past is gone, the future is not yet here.
It's called "transition." I have come to believe that this transition is the only place that real change occurs. I mean real change, not the pseudo-change that only lasts until the next time my old buttons get punched. I have noticed that, in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as a "no-thing," a no place between places. Sure, the old trapeze bar was real, and that new one coming towards me, I hope that's real, too. But the void in between? Is that just a scary, confusing, disorienting nowhere that must be gotten through as fast and as unconsciously as possible?
NO! What a wasted opportunity that would be. I have a sneaking suspicion that the transition zone is the only real thing and the bars are illusions we dream up to avoid the void where the real change, the real growth, occurs for us. Whether or not my hunch is true, it remains that the transition zones in our lives are incredibly rich places. They should be honoured, even savoured. Yes, with all the pain and fear and feelings of being out of control that can (but not necessarily) accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, most growth-filled, passionate, expansive moments in our lives.