Open Space

‘There is a vitality, a life-force, an energy, a quickening, that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost….the world will not have it.’ The brilliant American choreographer Martha Graham spoke these profoundly challenging words to her dance students in the last century, but I found them apt for the first workshop of a new arts programme I began at my local church at the start of May. Open Space offers adults from all faiths and backgrounds a creative workshop in the arts each month as a means of unlocking the deep spiritual treasures which are hidden within the depths of every soul. God, by any definition is essentially creative, and since Christians understand humanity to be made in this image, we are perhaps closest to the divine when we are exercising our innate artistic gifts. The problem, as Graham’s words emphasize, is that we are inclined to ‘block’ our own creativity. The reasons for this are manifold and complex, but they certainly have something to do with a lack of self-belief or a paralysing self-consciousness, which inhibits the sort of free-flowing energy and spontaneity that is at the heart of inspirational art in any field. For this first workshop, I chose to lead the group in some creative writing. I did not tell them this before hand, as this would have given them the opportunity to block their creativity by not showing up at all! We began by looking at the above quote, and at some key lines from Robert Alter’s beautiful translation of Psalm 139. This ‘David psalm’ evokes God’s sensitive sculpting of our unique individual life with the words, ‘From behind and in front You shaped me /and You set your palm upon me…..You created my innermost parts, / wove me in my mother’s womb.’ How deeply affirming are both the psalmist’s and Martha Graham’s words for the would-be artist who wonders whether they have anything unique to offer. We continued the session by slowly tuning into the descending silence of the space around us and within us, identifying the clutter of thoughts and feelings strewn across our interior landscape from the busyness of the day. Each person then listened to and wrote down five sounds they could hear. Having done this they wrote a paragraph about what things they associated with those different sounds. Afterwards each person read back one of their paragraphs to the group. Inevitably the sounds were similar; ticking clocks, bird song, squeaky doors, but of course the various responses were idiosyncratic, revealing the unique histories and personalities of the group. One lady coined a beautiful phrase about the choral evensong of the birds who sang ‘arias in branches,’ whilst a more prosaic and witty soul observed the need for DW40 to ease a squeaky door. However, it’s also significant how we find it hard to share our work without wanting to explain ourselves in some way. It’s a way of protecting ourselves from the savage critics we imagine hovering somewhere in the room waiting to rip us to shreds. Where does that come from? I can’t believe we have all had monstrous parents or teachers who condemned our first artistic efforts out of hand. Yet, somehow we have internalized such negative and destructive voices. I was aware, too. of my own impulse as the facilitator to pass comment on people’s work, so for the next exercise I suggested that we all bit our tongues rather than comment on our or other’s efforts just for the sake of filling the silence.

For this, I gave each member of the group five random topics; garden furniture, Marilyn Monroe, eagles, the earth’s core and fireworks. I instructed them to write freely and spontaneously for about five minutes (roughly one side of A4) on each subject. Of course this seemed more like an exam, and all the anxieties about being able to find anything to say crowded in, causing nervous giggles to ripple around the table. Eventually that concentrated stillness was felt by all. As I was the facilitator, I had the chance to observe the beauty of people writing as their ideas spilled out onto the paper with that disarming eagerness to do their very best.

So we again heard one topic from each of the dozen participants, but this time without the throat-clearing pre-ambles. One man, a builder, read out his response to garden furniture, which was a cleverly shaped narrative written from the perspective of a garden bench circling an old tree. It reflected on the various characters in the neighbourhood who had sat and gossiped there. After we had all finished reading our passages, John confessed he had felt a bit out of his depth when he had begun the session. We counteracted this by heaping praise on such a fine piece of writing. His inspiration had come from just such a garden seat he’d admired while working on someone’s home, and this had sparked his imagination in the writing workshop this evening.

At the end of the workshop, we considered the notion of a writer ‘finding their voice,’ as an apt metaphor for our journey of faith. When we first begin to explore our spirituality, or follow a religion, we are inclined to fall into clichés just like a novice writer. We have an idea of what a Christian, for example, is supposed to be, and thus try to adopt the appropriate behaviour. This is perhaps an understandable starting point, but becomes disastrous if we get stuck in this groove. There comes a time when we have to discover our unique voice and signature as a saint. This may take a life-time to evolve, but the sooner we move away from the rigid stereo-types of the religious life, the sooner we will find that ‘unique expression,’ which Martha Graham sought from her dancers. Jesus, Moses, Buddha, Mohammed, and Shakespeare were all one offs! So should we be, regardless of our religious persuasion or artistic talent..