Wednesday, January 2, 2013

"A door between me and the world" - on Marion Milner's A Life of One's Own - Part I

"I had sometimes found changes in mood follow when I tried to describe in words what I was looking at. So I said: 'I see a white house with red geraniums and I hear a child crooning.' And this simple incantation seemed to open a door between me and the world." 
(p. 55, Milner, Marion, A Life of One's Own, Routledge, Hove, 2011)



I have been wanting to write about the psychoanalyst, artist and writer Marion Milner (1900-1998) for so long now. These two books have accompanied me ever since I bought them, especially A Life of One's Own. The right books always seem to come to me when I need them, and this is a book that I know will be re-read many times.

Written in 1934 as a record of her seven-year quest to find out what makes her happy, it has a timeless quality and ranks among the classics in happiness literature.What she advocates is very Power of Now and mindfulness practice: that happiness is to be found in the space between thoughts, in letting go, in being in the moment, in being an observer instead of analysing.

The book is a very personal account, which makes it all the more absorbing and ultimately universal. The writing is beautiful and deep (yet very accessible), her sentences mirroring the movement of her thoughts, often in a stream-of-consciousness style. She is also as honest as possible, chronicling her petty thoughts, vanities, fears and failings as accurately as her eloquent musings and successes.

I will not attempt a summary or review as such, but mainly compile the parts that I want to remember. Here are those from chapters 1-4:

Milner starts by recording her experiences and feelings in a diary and soon comes to understand that the act of seeing is more important than what she sees. Writing helps her access her automatic self "beneath the ripples on the surface of my mind" (p.38): "It was as if I were trying to catch something and the written word provided a net which for a moment entangled a shadowy form which was other than the meaning of the words." (p.47)

She begins to notice that frequently thoughts get in the way of her enjoyment when, for instance, listening to music, visiting a gallery or watching a play. Feelings of inadequacy tend to intrude because she reckons she doesn't know enough about the subject and therefore cannot take it in properly, but she finds a solution: "I lost myself in a Schubert Quartet [...] partly by ceasing all striving to understand the music, partly by driving off intrusive thoughts, partly feeling the music coming up inside me, myself a hollow vessel to be filled with sound." (p.23)

All her insights lead towards inactivity and letting go and simply delighting in things. She discovers that she can move the core of her "I-ness"around her body, feeling herself into her heart, for example, to quieten her mind. Her awareness needs to flow around things she sees and does and expand from her body, as "my usual attitude to the world was a contracted one, like the sea anemone when disturbed by a rough touch" (p.51). She finds that this expansion, "that fat feeling", has physical benefits - it makes her breathe more deeply, refreshes her and prevents exhaustion.

 The pattern the leaves of a tree make against the sky prompts this response: "I had an aching desire to possess the pattern, somehow to make it mine." She thinks of drawing, yet doesn't have the time. Instead, she lets her awareness flow around the trees and their patterns "till their intricacies became part of my being" (ibid.).

At the zoo she finds "Joy in the animals and joy in the desirelessness of shapes" (p.18), and on another occasion, watching a little boy in a sailor suit dancing and skipping: "I thought what an awful thing is idealism when reality is so marvellous." (p.24) More often than not it is the simple things and nature she is drawn to. When writing down what she wants, one conclusion is "To give up to the creative chemistry and live among things that grow - a child, a garden and quietness." (p.27)

Apart from perceiving, she finds that doing things could also be altered by moving her awareness. When darning stockings, she notices that when she detaches and just lets her hand do the work, she derives pleasure from what she used to perceive as a chore. The realisation that a loose arm makes playing ping-pong easier leads her to relinquish the way most things are taught, with its emphasis on trying and effort. (for more on this, there is another wonderful book called The Art of Effortless Living)

Chapter 4 ends with questions that bother her, such as: If just looking was so satisfying, "why was I always striving to have things or to get things done?" (p.56)? Thus, Chapter 5 is titled "Searching for a Purpose".

To be continued...

 


Thursday, December 27, 2012

This week


little eyes

my sister playing with her food
this book

 
knitting and tea for giants (or me)

glitter

light

Monday, December 24, 2012

Snow cat



I am borrowing my sister's cat* to say Merry Christmas to you all!
(the snow was temporary - today it feels like spring)

* edited on instruction to clarify he is also my brother-in-law's cat (when really it is clear that it is the other way around - my sister and her husband are Leopold's humans)

Thursday, December 20, 2012

For hands and feet



The weather has been rather mild after the snow and ice that covered this part of the world just a few days before I arrived. Impractical dresser that I am I brought elbow-length evening gloves and no other type, but, coupled with my moss-stitch wrist warmers (the length of the gloves scrunched up underneath), they suffice for now.


I am knitting socks with leftover yarn at record speed - usually it takes me weeks, as I pick up the needles now and again for a few minutes, but I knitted one sock in two days this time.

I am still reading and re-reading Marion Milner - I always have several books on the go, and this is one that is accompanied by plenty of note-taking (and I will share my thoughts soon), and The Lacuna tempted me not only because I was in need of books that make "everything else in life seem unimportant", but also because it takes in Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera and things I spent a large chunk of my university years on.

But right now I am reading my airplane book (the requirements for that are 'lightweight' and 'easy to read'; I usually fly in the early morning after getting up at midnight) - Nicci French's The Safe House. I read tons of psychological thrillers when I was a teenager, and somehow, being back in my childhood home, it seems appropriate. Not that it isn't appropriate at other times. I am intrigued by husband-wife writing duos, how they work, and particularly how both female and male sensibilities imbue the writing as a result. I am not saying that a male author is not able to convincingly get inside the head of a female character and vice versa, but there is a difference when the book is written by authors of both genders, even simply in the reader's knowledge of that fact.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Glimpses


 on the easel

"I will not have any clear blocks of time to give the new book until next year. I have fat files of facts. I don't have its spirit. But I am beginning to sense it. As winter closes in I feel as if I am opening the door of a child's Advent calendar. Each picture is tiny and in brilliant colour. Each is a glimpse, each is separate. But as the days go by they will add up to a story."  

-Hilary Mantel in The Sunday Times Magazine, 9.12.2012


I feel the same about a couple of new projects. Winter is a time for slowing down but also for letting ideas develop and brew, subconsciously perhaps. I was talking to a friend about this yesterday who felt unproductive and frustrated - even if nothing seems to be actively happening, our minds process things all the time, and in quiet periods we are still constantly adding to our artistic well, simply by being in the world, seeing, reading, listening, feeling. And occasionally we get these glimpses of what is preparing to emerge.

I am getting ready to go home for three weeks, and usually the time spent there yields a lot of new thoughts and renewed enthusiasm (though I harldy need to renew that).

Friday, December 7, 2012

Fading light






The only way I have been working with colour lately is in choosing yarn, since I have been focusing on black-and-white drawing. This weekend I am hoping to get my paints out and use bright colours as an antidote to the short days. I don't suffer from SAD, but like everyone I am happier if I see daylight every day, so whenever I can I go outside - no running this week so far, but walks, errands and forgoing the Ride of the Park-&-Ride and going by foot instead.

The lack of daylight meant I couldn't get better pictures of the crochet bracelets, but I actually like when pictures come out slightly blurry - as a myopic person, it feels so familiar.

Monday, December 3, 2012

Skies


Co. Clare

Connemara


Living between two of the most beautiful landscapes, Connemara and the Burren, I have the luxury to go on the kind of day trips people come here from all over the world for any time I want. I don't intend to glorify driving without a destination - I do try to be green - but since the railway no longer exists, it is the easiest way to see a lot and be independent (as an occasional treat). My head is always clearer after moving through these landscapes and under their skies. I will get a bicycle at some stage, though.