Presence and Pause

Uncertainty in Creativity and Life

“A pause is not a time where nothing happens.”

-Vinod Menon, neuroscientist

I read this quote in a book called Uncertain: The Wisdom and Wonder of Being Unsure by Maggie Jackson.

She describes how Menon and his team looked at thought patterns of people listening to baroque symphonies. The team found that brains were most active during the moments of silence between movements. This came as a surprise to those doing the study. At the same time, it reinforces the idea that unexpected spaces and moments of uncertainty create further possibility in thought. It reminded me of speaking with a friend who plays fiddle. She attends Irish music sessions and described a fellow fiddler who knows the tunes so well, he can play with the melody and tempo, sometimes even skipping notes. He creates pauses as he adds his creative interpretation to a traditional tune.

In the midst of uncertainty, we look for solutions, we may try to imagine what might happen, to prepare for the worst, or hope for the best. We stay busy, researching and seeking further information to help us figure things out.

I’ve been working on the section of my book that deals with uncertainty and its role in creative practice. I’m reminded that in the midst of uncertainty, we also find an invitation to pause. I love the neuroscientist’s reminder that pause is not a time when nothing happens. Pause helps us ground ourselves in presence, it is an act of being rather than doing. It is a space of potential.

I’d love to hear from your experiences too. How does slowing down in the midst of uncertainty help to deepen your sense of presence? Can you think of a time a pause led you to see greater possibilities?

I am aware of the ways uncertainty and anxiety swirl around us in this season. In the week before the election, I went into D. C. to visit the US Botanical Garden. I considered avoiding the city, it seemed to represent so much of the turmoil and division currently in our political discourse.

The Capitol dome in the distance beyond the National Botanical Garden, a tree I met on the mall, The Capitol, U. S. Botanical Garden, and Lincoln Memorial crafted out of plants; these will be part of the garden's upcoming exhibit.

Once there I was glad I went. It was a beautiful fall day, and I was reminded how Washington D. C. is much more than politics. The presence of visitors, joggers, garden volunteers, gift shop and museum staff, children and teachers on a field trip, and even the blooms and changing trees; all these things reminded me of the richness and many stories of this city.

Last Wednesday, after waking up to learn the election results, I visited the National Gallery with my mom. We saw an exhibit about French Impressionism and afterward had lunch in a little courtyard coffee shop. While I was waiting for our food, a server bussing tables approached me and asked if he could ask a question. I said yes and he asked about how women felt about the election. He went on to share his sadness and puzzlement at the election outcome. It wasn't so much about what was said as about the courage he had to initiate a moment of connection and presence. Perhaps the sadness and puzzlement we shared contributed to a slowness, a pause, that invited this connection in a busy spot at lunch hour. As I move through these weeks, I’ve been leaning into presence and pause, to slowing down.

I am also grateful for the ways stories of other creatives inform me in this time.

A photo from Anne Spencer’s home at the exhibit in Charlottesville.

In October, I discovered this poem by Anne Spencer at an exhibit of her archives in the Special Collections library at the University of Virginia.

Earth, I thank you 
For the pleasure of your language 
You’ve had a hard time 
Bringing it to me 
From the ground 
To grunt thru the noun 
To all the way  
Feeling Seeing Smelling Touching 
—Awareness 
I am here!  
- Anne Spencer

Anne Spencer’s poem ends with “I am here!” She is present, to her readers, to the natural world around her, to her community, to herself.

Anne Spencer is celebrated as a Harlem Renaissance poet. This may seem surprising at first as she lived her entire life in Virginia. Her home with its garden in Lynchburg, VA is a museum today. In addition to her poetry, she is known for her hospitality and connections; civil rights leaders and Harlem Renaissance creatives visited and gathered in her home.

Image of Anne Spencer postage stamp, 2020 part of the “Voices of Harlem” series.

One of her contemporaries was Amaza Lee Meredith, an architect and teacher. On the way to Charlottesville I visited an exhibit of Meredith’s work and legacy at the Institute for Contemporary Art at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond. Meredith was the first known Black queer woman to practice architecture in Virginia. The exhibit was titled, Dear Maizie and featured photos and plans of buildings she designed in Virginia and New York. In 1935, she founded the Art Department at Virginia State University, and the exhibit included letters to and from her students. Correspondence on display featured letters of recommendation she wrote for students as well as letters students wrote thanking her for her guidance and inspiration and updating her on their creative projects and career events.

Photo of a tree by Amaza Lee Meredith.

Seeing these two exhibits in one day, I began to think about how these women’s stories were grounded in connection, care, and community. Their stories sit beside the dominant narrative of the time. The dominant narrative is of the challenges of the Jim Crow South and the limited opportunities available to women and people of color.

Amaza Lee Meredith was unable to receive formal training as an architect. At the same time, the community she built and the homes she designed are testaments to her work and legacy. The home in Petersburg, Virginia that she shared with her partner, the educator, Edna Meade Colson still stands on the campus of Virginia State University.

These creative women’s examples remind me there are always more stories to be found. I am grateful for the curators and librarians researching and sharing these stories.

As I continue with my writing, I am grateful for chance to correspond with readers through this newsletter. Thank you for reading and being a part of creative community.

With a grateful heart,

Kathryn

Patience, patience, because the great movements of history have always begun in those small parentheses that we call ‘in the meantime’.

So easy to forget how political practice often operates like a loom, weaving in two directions, the expected and the unexpected.

-John Berger