Blog # 113…
January 2021
Happy New Year! As we leave 2020 behind, let’s try and preserve the thoughts, few as they may be, of good things that happened last year...the recent conjuncture of Jupiter and Saturn springs to my mind, I'm sure you have some ideas too. Remembering forms our knowledge and our behavior; we forget so our brains are clear from clutter and there's room for new material. Time softens the edges of memory, so, as I wondered a couple of blogs ago, maybe as time passes we’ll guard some good souvenirs of last year.
I don’t know
about you, but I feel as if I aged more than a year in 2020. It has to do with
not being as physically active, but there’s something more: the closeness to
death around us, the absence of hugs - even handshakes, and the lack of a variety
of experiences. Looking at the same landscape, lots of it the four walls of
home (and don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful to have a home!) not seeing a
range of people or places, all contribute to a general lack of the stimulation
we’re used to. And we know what lack of stimulation is doing to our brothers
and sisters in Long Term Care Homes!
So, I was
delighted to hear of Emily Urquhart’s book, The
Age of Creativity, where she explores the lives of aging artists, her
relationship with her father Tony being the centerpiece. Reading the book has been both enlightening
and encouraging – back to my opening remarks about memory. Mixing her research
into the aging brain and memory with studies of the later lives and work of
artists, Emily points out how many of them continue their practice, even
exploring new styles and forms in later life, drawing on inner resources if
their memories are failing. There’s some evidence that the thinning of the
cerebral cortex releases inhibitions, useful for creating art, could be problematic in other ways though.
Because
artists are mainly freelancers and not subject to the confines of conventional
workplaces (not supported by salaries either) they have the option of working
as long as they're able, so the maintenance of their creative activity is interesting
- but does it relate to the rest of us? Can we maintain or even develop our
creative selves as we age?
The last
nine months have tested our ability to react, adapt and cope with the many
changes forced on us suddenly. We’ve been scared, bored, lonely, sick or
depressed, sometimes all at once, and yet, we’ve survived. That’s honed a
certain creativity that needs to be recognized. We’re making do, working with
the available materials, stretching our minds and maybe lowering our
expectations, appreciating different, smaller pleasures, reaching out and
helping and comforting each other. Doing all that is creativity at its finest,
equally as valuable as a piece of art.
Twyla Tharp is a dancer with not only an unforgettable name, but a strong sense of preserving physical agility and strength into old age (she’s in her late seventies). In her book Keep it Moving: Lessons for the Rest of Your Life she shares her sense of keeping a body strong and limber as it ages. She emphasizes physical movement suggesting simple things like squirming for a few minutes, moving whatever parts of your body you can, before climbing out of bed in the morning and making what you do during the day larger and stronger - striding rather than just walking. Using your muscle memory to stand or sit a little straighter and breathing more deeply, contracting some muscles and relaxing them in a rhythm... I'm doing that as I write this.
So, the
takeaway is that appreciation of art forms and creativity itself don’t leave us
as we age, it just doesn’t always take a tangible form. Movement too can take many forms, from
wiggling your toes to dancing around
the kitchen, the important thing is, as Twyla says Keep it Moving.
I loved this
from Wintering by Katharine May, ”We
have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us…given
time, they grow again.” The subtitle is The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. Hope our leaves will grow again,
will check with you about that later.
