I’m reading Madeleine L’Engle’s (1918-2007)autobiographical book “Circle of Quiet”. I love gaining insight into other creative minds; relating their struggles to mine; finding comfort in their triumphs. The title of the book relates to a place where she escaped the chaos in her life; a place that allowed her to reconnect with that circle of quiet that helped her find her true self. In her case, that place was a natural stone bridge over a stream on the property of Crosswicks, her family home.
Last week I watched SCBWI’s interview with picture book author, Tomie dePaola. He talks about refueling his creativity by looking at art, listening to music, watching theater. He mentions his need for a space where he goes to create; a space undisturbed by distractions.
I used to have such a space. At our last house, I had a studio in the backyard. When I closed the studio door, no dogs, no people, no phones intruded. It was my creative sanctuary. We moved two years ago, and the only place to set up my studio in the new house was an extra bedroom. It’s crammed with art supplies, paintings and prints. There’s a small space for easels, but I’ve yet to have the urge to create there.
Right now, as I type, my catahoula hound is barking outrageously at my husband who is mowing the yard. The Jack Russell adds his yips to the cacophony. If they’re not barking at someone walking by, they’re wrestling at my feet. The phone can be turned off, but the doorbell can’t. Dustdevils vex me, food tempts me, laundry cries to be washed. There’s no end to the distractions that sabotage creative focus.
It’s been way too long since I refueled with music or dance or theater. Way too long since I retreated to a special place to find my circle of quiet. My creative energy feels like it’s running on the last vestiges of a back-up battery.
