Weather Diary - Day 5 (Friday March 24 2006 Light Rain 50F)

On Process

Happily, five days into my pilgrimage, I fall into something of a routine, (a routine I imagine to be the influence of the tides), and with that, a satisfying rhythm. It is a routine that goes beyond the early morning spiritual reading, beyond the daily beach walk, beyond the actual art making, although these elements are part of the process in a space and time of virtual solitude.
I, in need of some regular social interaction, incorporate into the ebb and flow a daily visit to the local coffee shop. Here before 8 a.m., I pick up the day's 'Virginian-Pilot', an excellent cup of coffee, and boundless attention for the dog.
On this day of typical coastal North Carolina weather, of a rain so gentle it is almost mist-like, several men are gathered at the entrance, deep in conversation, and I hesitate, negotiating the least disruptive path around them. But Chester (as always) becomes the centre of things, and is petted and fed morsels of muffin and bagel, much to his joy. (This is instantly imprinted on his memory.) He gazes up into one friendly pair of eyes, tongue lolling and saying, 'I will never forget you!' And he means it.
They are teachers, construction workers, plumbers and wait-staff, I gather from the conversation. We sit in the shelter of the porch, me with the crossword puzzle, Chester at my feet, and animated conversation all around.
This will do.
As I listen, drinking it all in (along with the coffee), I see my time on this beautiful little island being buffed like beach glass, into a smooth, rounded, satisfying shape. I am nudged softly into remembering my devotion to the concept of 'process', a concept long thought about in relation to art making.

Process. A series of stages. The course of becoming.

Because it's not really all about the 'Finished Product'. It's about becoming something, about the journey, all of the small steps as well as the grand events, all of the learning, the trials, the practise, the imperfection - all that leads up to the finished product - the successes, the happy accidents, and the hurdles.
Oh yes, the hurdles.
All part of the process too.
The struggles and missteps, the blots, scribbles, awkward areas and bad colour choices, the messes made, the impetuous decisions, the paper crumpled and thrown across the room, the canvases left to mould and rot, heaved onto a funeral pyre, the tears and frustrations. All of that too, all of the mistakes, heartache and disappointment, all of that, all of that EFFORT, somehow becomes the very fibre of the fresh clean presentable finished product, whether the finished product is an artwork, a novel, a life, or a self-inflicted hermit's pilgrimage.

Heavy thinking for 8 a.m.

Chester and I amble back to our little cottage in the mist-like rain, a rain that doesn't make the world grey somehow, but soft and gentle and pastel.
This is the day I really begin to work.
Now I am ready.