There was an article some months ago in the New York Times about happiness. The article was trying to identify the things that made people happy. (Sex was first, apparently. Too bad for me!) But there was an underlying principle about what made people happiest; and that was: being deeply engaged in something.
Of course, I knew this, but they didn’t ask me.
Many years ago, quite by accident, I began making jewelry -- as in classical jewelry; as in, the Greeks, the Romans, the Etruscans. As in, gold (well that was many years ago, when gold was $300 an ounce). I didn’t have any particular interest in this undertaking, and I fairly stumbled on it - a friend had a new girlfriend, she had a friend who was starting a school, my daughter was a junior in high school and I knew she’d be leaving home - anyway I found myself agreeing to try out this class.
I arrived at the studio and said to the instructor, “I can’t sew, I can’t knit, I can’t draw, I can’t paint, I can’t throw a pot, they threw me out of pottery class.” She looked at me and said matter-of-factly: ‘I can teach you to do this.’
Well, I was game! And I was right, too - I was pretty awful at it. I had no natural skill, and I was a careless worker. Now, I had a long history of not doing anything unless I was immediately good at it (which meant that there were a whole lot of things I never, ever did - like skiing, or any other sport for that matter). But I had nothing at stake here. I wasn’t really trying to be ‘good’ at it, I was just going so I wouldn’t come down with a bad case of empty nest when Ab went off to college. I did become rather hysterical when I melted something, but I kept my good humor. I was hysterical, yes, but also breezy (well, for me) and cavalier. (Ah well! So I melted ten hours worth of work! never mind!)
But my teacher was right, too. At the beginning I didn’t really grasp the process - I thought I had to do everything exactly right the first time. Working in metal is, in fact, iterative; it took me about a year to finally understand this, but it is a key piece in the surrender to craft. At the beginning I would be in a hurry to finish a piece; after about a year, I found I’d let go of any sense of timetable. The piece would be finished when it was finished. If I melted something, I just started again, or I worked on something else. But even my first foray yielded something. It seemed like a miracle, but I had made a pair of silver earrings - I had heated the silver, and bent it, and fused it, and soldered it, and filed it, and cleaned it, and I had set the stones. How had I done these miraculous things? In a trance, I supposed.
But one of the most wonderful things about an iterative process is that you eventually have something to show for it. Even the first time out, I had a pair of earrings. Imperfect, but respectable (well, almost respectable).
What do I mean by ‘iterative’? Well, some years later I tried glass blowing. Glass blowing is decidedly NOT iterative. You get pretty much one chance to get it right. It is immediate. Glass blowing is like playing golf: you can’t play a round of golf until you’re already pretty decent at it. But you can make a pair of silver earrings.
But the real payoff was the absolute concentration required in working with metal. I began to notice that whatever mood I was in when I arrived at my class, , everything flew out of my mind once I started to work. There wasn’t room for being annoyed at that really annoying Julia and also working on the piece. I - I, who was never tranquil - I had found a path to tranquility (well, my anxious, wired version of it, anyway) quite by accident.
It is now almost 20 years later, and I have added some new endeavors to the metal work. My most recent obsession is enameling (enamel is powdered glass on metal) and it absorbs me completely. I am a cranky soul, but I had the good fortune to stumble on the best way for me to clear my mind and love something: be engaged. Be deeply engaged.
Of course, I knew this, but they didn’t ask me.
Many years ago, quite by accident, I began making jewelry -- as in classical jewelry; as in, the Greeks, the Romans, the Etruscans. As in, gold (well that was many years ago, when gold was $300 an ounce). I didn’t have any particular interest in this undertaking, and I fairly stumbled on it - a friend had a new girlfriend, she had a friend who was starting a school, my daughter was a junior in high school and I knew she’d be leaving home - anyway I found myself agreeing to try out this class.
I arrived at the studio and said to the instructor, “I can’t sew, I can’t knit, I can’t draw, I can’t paint, I can’t throw a pot, they threw me out of pottery class.” She looked at me and said matter-of-factly: ‘I can teach you to do this.’
Well, I was game! And I was right, too - I was pretty awful at it. I had no natural skill, and I was a careless worker. Now, I had a long history of not doing anything unless I was immediately good at it (which meant that there were a whole lot of things I never, ever did - like skiing, or any other sport for that matter). But I had nothing at stake here. I wasn’t really trying to be ‘good’ at it, I was just going so I wouldn’t come down with a bad case of empty nest when Ab went off to college. I did become rather hysterical when I melted something, but I kept my good humor. I was hysterical, yes, but also breezy (well, for me) and cavalier. (Ah well! So I melted ten hours worth of work! never mind!)
But my teacher was right, too. At the beginning I didn’t really grasp the process - I thought I had to do everything exactly right the first time. Working in metal is, in fact, iterative; it took me about a year to finally understand this, but it is a key piece in the surrender to craft. At the beginning I would be in a hurry to finish a piece; after about a year, I found I’d let go of any sense of timetable. The piece would be finished when it was finished. If I melted something, I just started again, or I worked on something else. But even my first foray yielded something. It seemed like a miracle, but I had made a pair of silver earrings - I had heated the silver, and bent it, and fused it, and soldered it, and filed it, and cleaned it, and I had set the stones. How had I done these miraculous things? In a trance, I supposed.
But one of the most wonderful things about an iterative process is that you eventually have something to show for it. Even the first time out, I had a pair of earrings. Imperfect, but respectable (well, almost respectable).
What do I mean by ‘iterative’? Well, some years later I tried glass blowing. Glass blowing is decidedly NOT iterative. You get pretty much one chance to get it right. It is immediate. Glass blowing is like playing golf: you can’t play a round of golf until you’re already pretty decent at it. But you can make a pair of silver earrings.
But the real payoff was the absolute concentration required in working with metal. I began to notice that whatever mood I was in when I arrived at my class, , everything flew out of my mind once I started to work. There wasn’t room for being annoyed at that really annoying Julia and also working on the piece. I - I, who was never tranquil - I had found a path to tranquility (well, my anxious, wired version of it, anyway) quite by accident.
It is now almost 20 years later, and I have added some new endeavors to the metal work. My most recent obsession is enameling (enamel is powdered glass on metal) and it absorbs me completely. I am a cranky soul, but I had the good fortune to stumble on the best way for me to clear my mind and love something: be engaged. Be deeply engaged.
References/Sources: When the Mind Wanders, Happiness Strays, John Tierney, NY Tmes Nov. 15http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/16/science/16tier.html?_r=1&ref=johntierney
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