Old friends came to visit this weekend.
Not old as in old. Although none of us is in danger of getting carded anymore.
Old as in they were once a big part of our lives.
An Earlier Layer
Once upon a time we lived near each other. We worked together. Grew a company together. Called each other in the middle of the night when an ER trip required an emergency babysitter.
We shared meals and birthdays and ordinary Tuesdays. They were people we didn’t have to make plans with three months in advance.
We just saw each other.
Then we moved. Then they moved. Then we moved again. Then they moved again.
Years passed. Christmas cards. Facebook. Phone calls. Bits and pieces of each other’s lives.
And then suddenly they were here, walking into our new house and my new studio, meeting the dogs—who could have represented the family better—and seeing this new life we’re building on the Strait.
And it was easy.
We didn’t have to fill in all the missing years. We just picked up the thread.
Sunday we spent the day hiking.
Morning at Lake Crescent. Afternoon at Salt Creek.
Fresh water. Salt water. Forest trails. Tide pools. Tired feet. Aching thighs. Everyone needing a nap before ending the day with pizza.
It was a good day.
Colors, Not Outcomes
At Lake Crescent, I stopped to photograph the water where the color shifted from turquoise near shore to deep blue farther out.
My friend asked if I would paint it.
I explained that I rarely know what I’m painting when I start. I make marks. Scribble. Add color. Add another layer. Cover something up. Scrape something back. Turn the painting around.
Basically, I make a mess and keep going until it becomes something.
The photographs I take are more like notes to myself.
Look at that blue.
They inspire me. They don’t determine the outcome.
And somewhere in that day—fresh water, salt water, tired feet and a conversation about painting—I started thinking about layers.
What Stays Underneath
That’s how I paint.
The first marks get covered by the next ones. Some disappear. Some peek through. Some ugly bit I was sure was a mistake turns out to be exactly what the painting needed.
And I don’t know any of that when I start.
Maybe the layers of life work the same way.
I tend to think of my life in chapters. I lived here. Then there. I did this. Then that.
These people belonged to that time.
Except they don’t.
It’s all still under there.
The places. The work. The people. The ordinary Tuesdays.
I’ve written before about our landscape of connection. Maybe this is the same idea with paint on it.
The Layers of Life
Right now I’m in a very new layer. New house. New studio. New town. New people.
It can feel a little like starting over. But I’m not starting over.
I’m starting from everything underneath.
And this weekend, people from an earlier layer walked through the door.
There they were. Still part of the painting.
Your Turn
This week’s creative prompt: Think about an earlier layer of your life.
A person. A place. A job. A song. A habit. Something you loved doing and haven’t thought about in years.
Where is it still showing through?
Notice what it changed.
And if you’d like to start a conversation about it, leave a comment. I’d love to hear what you find.
Back next week—
Hi Susan! I love the comparison of painting and life’s different chapters. My husband and I were just talking about this yesterday, how we change over the years but still the same person, just with more added bits.
Good morning, Sam! As the saying goes–we are the sum total of all our experiences. Even when we reinvent ourself we’re building on the foundation of what was. That’s what keeps therapists in business. Or artists arting, writers writing…
I hadn’t thought in years about the fact that I volunteered, during college at the University of Minnesota, for various arts events at the only large performing venue then operating in the Twin Cities. But your blog got me to think about that, and that memory then reminded me that I also volunteered at the San Francisco Opera when I lived there. And now here I am in Nevada City, still volunteering for a variety of arts events. So, at least for me, past behavior and experiences do influence, layer on and infuse the present. And the colors are all good.
Volunteering in the arts may be background to you, Hindi, but it’s how we met and on the surface how I think of you. But from time to time you’ve given me glimpses of your professional life, wilderness adventures, travel… Throw all of that together and it makes you one of the most interesting people I know.
Lots of layers, lots of color in your life!
xoxo