Community Is A Practice Too

In my last Wild Creative Notes, I mentioned my yoga teacher’s mantra: It’s all a practice. Recently, I’ve been reminded that being in community is a practice too. Having nervously taken the plunge to join an artists’ co-working studio, I thought I’d better show my face. Like a kid on her first day of school, off I went with my shiny new sketchbook, a dipping pen and inks. I pulled out a table, organised my materials, said a friendly hello to my fellow artists and kept my head down for a couple of hours, pretending I knew what I was doing.

I’m shy in new situations. I like to get the measure of people before I engage, which sometimes comes off as being aloof, but I’m not comfortable being the newbie. I like belonging. I don’t like sticking out for any reason and of course, as soon as I open my mouth here I’m different. Many folks think I’m Australian - it must be something to do with the elongated vowels of my regional, Midlands’ accent - and I’m forever explaining that I am, in fact, English and then I go home and watch YouTube videos about how to speak The King’s English.

After doodling for a couple of hours, I measured how I was feeling. And honestly, I was a little out of sorts. I was out of practice working alongside other artists. I wasn’t sure I liked it. For one, there was noise I couldn’t control: Conversations, artists coming in and out, a man next to me who intermittently sharpened his pencil with a battery-driven sharpener; every thirty seconds, the buzzing sound of a blade shaving off the lead. Second, there were the interruptions: Folks wondering across to say hello and see what I was up to, what medium I use, what was the book I was looking at (Hockney, of course). Getting the measure of ME.

Clearly many of these artists had known each other for years. They had routines and in-jokes and were knowledgeable about where the soap was kept. I knew nothing. It was also clear my style of art making was very different to most in that room. There they were, fastidiously copying a photograph of a mountain in oils; there I was, scrubbing a page with cheap acrylic gouache, making loose marks that vaguely resembled a plant pot if you squinted and turned down the lights. ALL my insecurities came out. I’m not a good painter. I’m not an artist at all actually. I made a huge mistake, I thought this was a drop-in play centre. What time can I leave without it looking weird?

I conjured up my yoga teacher in my head. It’s all a practice. It’s all a practice. It’s all a practice.

It’s all a practice, even being in community. Sharing space with people we don’t know is a practice. Getting to know new friends is a practice. Getting used to each other’s noises is a practice. I sat with my discomfort and practiced art anyway.

Music played while we were working. Towards the end of the session someone inserted a CD into the player and a familiar sound came out: The Beatles, ‘Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band’. Then something beautiful happened that can only happen in community. Even though we couldn’t have been more different from each other, when the song ‘Get By With A Little Help From My Friends’ came on, we all knew the words and we all sang together. Even A.I. couldn’t have come up with a better ending.

When I packed up and waved a quiet goodbye, the guy with the annoying pencil sharpener shouted, Hope you come back! And I did. Two days later.

I believe humans are happier, healthier, stronger when we live and work together. Right now that feels like a radical act. So let it be radical.

In the words of The Beatles:

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.¹

J x

Notes you may have missed

A feel-good movie I’ve enjoyed featuring an octopus:

1. The Beatles, ‘In The End’ from Abbey Road album