Session One

Round one of contemplative sketching was a success! And by success I mean that I was present at a figure drawing session for 2.5 hours and I have some sketches.  The contemplation part was a bit more complicated.

One of the big problems about trying to be mindful and focused is that it's so easy to notice when you're actually doing it.  This, of course, causes everything to immediately fall apart.  Multiple times during the session I would suddenly think, "Wow! I haven't been thinking much recently! I'm so focused!" Then I would realize that I was thinking again and become concerned about that, then get frustrated, and so on.  And the walls come tumbling down.

However, I would consider this experience at least a 40% success.  Here are the sketches from the evening.

My theme of the evening was "Arms." The model's theme of the evening was "How many Greco-Roman sports poses can I hold for five minutes?" We worked well together.

The long pose for the evening.  My theme is unchanged, however, the model seems to be going for "Sleepy Poseidon."

The professor who runs the figure drawing sessions made an interesting comment to one of the other students.  He pointed out that the student was having some trouble and was getting distracted too easily.  The professor said something to the effect of, "You have to turn off that part of your mind, or else this won't work." The idea that you have to calm your mind in order to produce good work is something that I have heard in every art class that I've ever taken.  The reason for this is often attributed to the idea that the right side of your brain "controls creativity" while the left side "controls language and logic."  Neurologically speaking, it's a lot more complicated than that.  Both sides of the brain play a role in the visual perception, spatial reasoning, creativity, and fine motor control required for drawing as well as the language and internal monologue that can derail this process (Nielsen et al. 2013). 

Whatever the reason, I have noticed that my drawings are significantly better when my conscious mind isn't constantly butting in with opinions and criticisms.  The trick seems to be to let it just happen, which has become harder because I'm trying too hard.  My attempt at mindfulness may have actually made me worse...

The next step is to figure out what on earth I'm supposed to do with my inner monologue, especially if I can't really shut it up.  This will be the question that I will explore before I head back to the drawing board/sketch pad/whatever.

Contemplating the Body in the Body

Tonight is the first figure drawing session of the semester and my first opportunity to incorporate mindfulness into my experience.  Drawing with meditation garnish, if you will.  I've taken some time to try and prepare for the session and to try and figure out what I'm supposed to be doing anyway.  Unfortunately, in the chaotic collegiate atmosphere (dukkha, dukkha, dukkha), I have only fond the time to read one article. However, despite my limited source material, I think I have a slightly better grasp at what I am attempting. 


In the article "What does mindfulness really mean?", Bodhi (2011) examines mindfulness as it is described in the original Pali cannon.  These writings are the oldest surviving Buddhist texts, which seemed like a good place to start my meditation education. 

Sati, or mindfulness, is described in the Pali Nikaya (a collection of ancient Buddhist teachings) in this way,

"And what, monks, is right mindfulness? Here, a monk dwells contemplating the

body in the body, ardent, clearly comprehending, mindful, having removed

covetousness and displeasure in regard to the world. He dwells contemplating

feelings in feelings . . . contemplating mind in mind . . . contemplating

phenomena in phenomena, ardent, clearly comprehending, mindful, having

removed covetousness and displeasure in regard to the world. This is called right

mindfulness." (Pali Nikaya quoted in Bodhi 2011)

The word "contemplation" in this passage is anupassana in Pali.  Anupassana can be broken down into anu, which can be translated as "closeness", and passana, which means "observation" (Bodhi 2011).  To contemplate something can then be described as the act of closely observing the object, feeling, or phenomena. 

This concept translates very clearly to the act of drawing from life.   In order to effectively capture the likeness of a subject, it is necessary to observe it exactly as it is.  Although this sounds obvious, it is actually quite complicated.  We have so many preconceived ideas about what things look like that it is easy to slip and start drawing the idea and not the actual object.  These caricatures are always poor replicas of the original.  When I try to draw a model I have to be careful to draw what I am seeing, and not what I think I should be seeing.  Although there is a person in front of me, they are unique from all other ideas and images I have of "a person."  I have to pay attention to the patterns of light and dark, to the exact shapes and contours of their body, to all the imperfections that never made it into my "person" archetype.

In a sense, I've been somewhat mindful all along.

Although the direction to "contemplate the body in the body" is meant to describe the act of paying close attention to one's personal physical being, I think the exercise of focusing deeply on an external object could be equally illuminating.  I will be making a conscious effort to see reality as it is, and not as I would like it to be.

 

Meditation Initiation

Buddhism and Buddhist meditation are concepts that, until recently, I have only understood in a simplistic and stereotypical way.  Taking a Buddhism class has started to correct some of my strange misconceptions, but I'm still wrapped up in the idea of "pop-Buddhism" that has permeated Western culture.  As a result, I have always seen Buddhism as exotic, ethereal, and unattainable.  When I think of meditation, the first image that comes into my head is of an old man dressed in flowing robes sitting motionless in the middle of an empty room.  He is content because he has completely emptied his mind.  He could sit for hours without feeling pain or fatigue.  One of the stories of meditation that has stuck with me came from my friend who recounted the legend of Bodhidharma, a Chinese monk who sat and stared at a wall until his arms and legs fell off.  Although I understood this is metaphor designed to teach a lesson of commitment, it helped solidify my opinion of meditation practitioners: I have absolutely nothing in common with these people.

My past flirtations with meditation have all proved to be frustrating and pointless.  My attempts to clear my mind always end with me sitting with my eyes closed and realizing just how much is going on inside my head at any given time.  My clothes itch, every terrible song on the radio plays in my mind on repeat, the background voices shift from a sedate cocktail party to a screaming mob, and all the while a very disgruntled voice is pouting, "You're supposed to EMPTY your mind.  Why can't you do that ONE SIMPLE THING."  Needless to say, I generally give up at this point and immerse myself in a mindless TV show to take the edge off my failure. 

Perhaps I've been doing it wrong.

Perhaps the problem is that I have tried to jump into meditation without reading the instruction manual.  Instead, I've watched the late night infomercial about meditation and decided that I am completely prepared for my imminent enlightenment.  And then, when nothing happens after ten minutes of laboriously controlled breathing, I have always assumed that this was not for me.

I would like to change that.

This is my attempt to stop and acknowledge how little I know about meditation and to take the first steps to correct that.  Over the next month, I will endeavor to add a jolt of mindfulness to one small activity: drawing.  Instead of expecting a complete transformation of my entire life, I will try to pay close attention to how this process feels, how it changes my art, and if it bleeds out into the rest of my life in any way.

I'm exited to see where this goes.