I met Ella this summer at an artist retreat. Ella is a prolific artist and all-around wonderful person. (It is worth noting that everyone at the retreat was/is pretty amazing!) By the retreat’s end, none of us wanted to really part ways so we kept in touch.
I need to thank the Universe, the stars, what have you, for steering me in the direction of Ella. A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending part of a nurturing and creative weekend with Ella at her charming cottage fittingly named The Treehouse.
It isn’t possible to describe and share all of the lovely details of our time together. There were simply too many for one post. What we experienced was a collaborative weekend of creating – poetry, painting, a brief art lesson from Ella on using graphite sticks, writing prompts from one of my favorite books on memoir writing, Old Friend from Far Away by Natalie Goldberg.
I was nervous initially – would we click creatively? Would she think my writing is silly or trite? My nerves were calmed the moment I approached her cottage. Her cozy front porch told me all I needed to know – “This is the home of a person who enjoys life and creating art, and adding more beauty to the world in the process.”
Set against a backdrop of forest and river, the Treehouse is 750 square feet of artwork and supplies tucked neatly and beautifully all over the house so that at any given moment you can pick up some pastels and play around or pluck a soft ball of yarn from a basket for knitting. That is intentional, Ella explained, so there is no excuse to NOT make something beautiful. All of your tools are within arm’s reach.
Our first adventure was to a nearby waterfall where we spread out a blanket and just sat there to take it all in. Ella proceeded to sketch and paint, and I wrote a poem of the same scene Ella was capturing. Later, seeing Ella’s painting and my poem side-by-side, the two felt like they fit so well together. That is collaboration at its best!
By now the creative juices were flowing and our fingers were freezing, so we packed up and retreated to the cottage for pajamas, tea, and poetry. We read our writing aloud to each other in what was a very natural and earnest discourse. I think we both wanted to read some of our works to another human being, and it helps when that human being is appreciative of creative writing. To be able to share your art/writing with someone like this is comforting for the creative, churning spirit.
Early on, we were creatively vulnerable with each other, and I think that really helped move along the work. So often my mind ebbs and flows, spools and unspools. My attention is averted by worthwhile roadside distractions prior to arriving at my destination. It was a rare treat to be in the company of someone whose mind, I suspect, works in a similar way.
That morning before crawling out of the sleeper sofa and my cocoon of blankets, I picked up my journal and wrote briefly about my experiences with Ella in her cozy, retreat of a home. Here’s an excerpt from my scribbling:
Surrounded by baskets and bowls of art supplies. Pastels, bundles of yarn, jars of brushes, and palettes with dried paint; finished and unfinished art work on easels, on walls, above the mantle.
Everywhere you look there is art or art on the cusp of being made. It is perfect. Holy even. If to create is to pray, surely this is sacred. Surely I have awoken in a house of worship.
The next morning while eating in the sunlit breakfast nook, a fox and later a family of deer meandered by just outside the window. Listen, I know it might sound silly, but in that moment, it felt magical, an unexpected gift. I put down my fork and sent a silent “thank you” to the universe.