What To Say When We Can't Be Together?

This piece was first published on The Weekly Service website, where Rose is an artist in residence.

Let’s have a cup of tea together. Go on, put the kettle on.

Have you got your tea now?

I’m drinking chamomile. What’s yours?

I joke with friends who know me very well that words are not my native language.

My feelings have always felt too big for words, and my mind too fast for my mouth.

I love the shapes and sounds of words, and I love playing with them written down when there is no time pressure, but I trip over them when I try to make them come out my mouth, unless I concentrate with a lot of effort.

When I am in the same room as a person, it is easier. I can read their energy. I can show them in other ways that I understand, that I hear them and feel them.

When they are distressed, and the words are stuck, I can motion to the couch for them to sit.

I can hand them my teddy bear.

I can put the kettle on, make them a soothing chamomile tea, and hold it out to them.

I can light a candle and put lavender oil in an oil burner - a soothing sight to focus on, as well as a soothing sound.

I can place a hand on their shoulder, and it says more than words ever could.

How to connect when we can’t be together

The last two years — living much of the time alone in lockdown — has been a test of determination and creativity for staying connected through physical separation and distance.

I have taken selfies of myself hugging myself, pretending I was hugging a dear friend, and sent it to them, telling them it was me hugging them.

I have recorded the sound of myself making a cup of tea, and sent it to a friend, so they could listen to it as they also made tea, and we could “have tea together”.

I’ve bought beautiful, ethically handmade soy candles lovingly made by one friend, and given the same one to several different friends and family who know each other, and let them know, “every time you light this candle, it is the same one we all have, so you are connecting with all of us at once”.

I’ve recorded myself talking to them as if they are here, and sent them the recording as a voice message, so they can hear all the background noises of my home.

Migrant grief - this week’s service

This week’s service is touching on this theme, from the perspective of connecting across even larger distances. Farah Beani will be talking about migrant grief.

What does it feel like to be separated from loved ones and grieve from a distance?

I look forward to meeting with you online, with our cups of tea, to share time together. I’ll be there, painting as we listen. Book your ticket here.

Love,

Rose Wintergreen

(One of the artists in residence this season)

Creating through uncertainty (a painting and song for you)

This piece was first published on The Weekly Service website, where Rose is an artist in residence.

At the service on 18 September, called "Moments of Showing Up", Michelle Morgan shared how she manages to show up in moments of uncertainty in her own creative practice as an artist, studying art therapy and offering clinical pastoral care - non-religious spiritual support to people in hospital.

It was a strange experience for me.

We are in lockdown in Melbourne, so the service was online.

The hairs on my arms were standing up and my stomach was churning at the sound of angry buzzing police helicopters overhead, surveying anti-lockdown protestors.

I was connected with a group of warm-hearted friendly people on my screen. Off screen, I was physically alone, and my body was telling me I was in danger.  

I smiled (concentrating hard to make sure it didn’t come across as a grimace) and concentrated on planting my feet as flat to the ground as I could, uncurling my toes, willing my belly calm, elongating my out breaths.

I internally sighed at the irony of my struggling so much to show up in the moment, when that was the theme of the service.

 

I made a painting as I listened

As Michelle spoke, I was watching and noticing how my feelings in my physical body changed, immersing myself in the motion of drips and colours melting into each other, and the calming repetition of drawing circles with my non-dominant hand (a response to Michelle's sharing of her mandala practice, and the release that circles have provided her).

Close up of “Uncertainty”, mixed media on paper, 42cm x 29.7cm ~ 16.5” x 11.7”, vibrant abstract expressionist painting by Rose Wintergreen, 2021

I focused on letting go of control, letting whatever colours and marks wanted to come out come out, letting my hand and brush follow the threads and push and pulls of the story.

Mauve for the quiet moments of asking a higher power for solidarity and strength on the hard days, flashes of yellow for the unexpected laughs shared with patients, lighter tracks of eddying grey lead pencil for the paths connecting it all, chains of little circles…

Close up of “Uncertainty”, mixed media on paper, 42cm x 29.7cm ~ 16.5” x 11.7”, vibrant abstract expressionist painting by Rose Wintergreen, 2021

Close up of “Uncertainty”, mixed media on paper, 42cm x 29.7cm ~ 16.5” x 11.7”, vibrant abstract expressionist painting by Rose Wintergreen, 2021

When it came time for breakout rooms (Michelle had finished her story, and there was an opportunity to join a small group for reflection and discussion), I opted out, to let it all sink in quietly.

I got my hairdryer out to dry the painting so I would be able to hold it up and show everyone when they came out. I hummed as it whirred.

A melody arrived…

It unfurled out of my mouth as I moved the hairdryer across the page, drying each little pool of colour in turn.

I managed to scrawl some notes of the words and sing it for everyone when we came back together for sharing. It wasn’t recorded.

After the session ended, I sung it again and recorded it into my phone before I would forget it.

The helicopters are buzzing again today, but I have been showing up for myself by making music. I opened my music program, imported the recording I made on my phone, and have transformed it into a fully structured recorded track.

The song that arrived - “Uncertainty”

I've combined the original lead melody with the sound of a pedestrian light crossing opposite the National Gallery of Victoria I recorded on a lockdown walk a month or so ago. I was mesmerised by the calming nature of its repetition, the comfort of the familiarity of the sound, the way it kept circling back again and again.

You may notice a tram and a seagull in the background, and a single car passing by. (I have repeated them throughout.) A strange juxtaposition of familiarity and eerie dystopia; usually this spot would be full of the sounds of happy pedestrians, lots of traffic noise, the sound of music playing from the tinny coffee shop speakers out the front of the Arts Centre, and people whizzing past on bicycles and electric scooters.  

The uncertainty of this time seems never-ending, but I am eternally grateful for being a part of The Weekly Service community.

I keep coming back, and it keeps helping me circle back to myself and what really matters: showing up and connecting authentically with other humans, holding space for what is, even if it is messy sometimes.

Thank you for sharing your story about how you do this, Michelle. It was exactly what I needed.

Lyrics 

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty follows me

No matter how hard I try

I can try to live

All my days

In a straight line

But the only thing certain

Is that life will keep shifting and turning

Maybe I can throw my arms in a circle

And hold myself as I keep learning…

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty follows me

No matter how hard I try

I can try to live

All my days

In a straight line

But the only thing certain

Is that life will keep shifting and turning

Maybe I can throw my arms in a circle

Hold myself as I keep learning…

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty follows me

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty follows me

Love,

Rose Wintergreen

(One of the artists in residence this season)

How To Keep Showing Up In Times Of Uncertainty

This piece was first published on The Weekly Service website, where Rose is an artist in residence.

Nothing is forever.

Change is the only certainty.

I know this in my bones somehow, and in a weird way, this knowledge brings me a sense of peace. Yes, there it is, my heart has unclenched with the reminder.

Yet, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always been anxious and fearful of change.

That is, unless it is change that I have instigated, can predict and control.

Fear of uncertainty led me to…

Fear of uncertainty led me to rush into decisions and actions and life directions that were totally wrong for me, because I mistakenly thought I couldn’t possibly live in the space of the in between, the not knowing, the uncertainty.

 Fear of uncertainty led me to working long hours in jobs I did not enjoy.

Fear of uncertainty led me to propose marriage to someone I knew did not love me.

Fear of uncertainty led me to live in cities I did not want to live in.

That is, until:

The pain and damage brought upon myself by my attempts to outrun the fear of uncertainty broke me.

It was only then that I learned:

There is nothing more powerful, potent and mystical than the exquisite tension between the euphoria and melancholy of change.

When I sit with the unknown…

When I sit with the unknown, and watch it with the wonder and curiosity of a small child, it dances, twists and shifts in the most entrancing kaleidoscope.

When I sit with the unknown, it pushes and pulls my heart.

When I sit with the unknown, it makes me cry and sing and dream and gasp.

When I sit with the unknown, and talk about my fears and hopes with other people, it brings connection and closeness, somehow diluting the fears and making me believe more in my ability to surf the waves of change without drowning.

When I sit with the unknown instead of running from it, I am showing up for myself, for the other people in my life, and for our future together.

I am allowing uncertainty and change to flow to and through me, even though it sometimes brings me to my knees.

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown when I dance-thrash-headbang-shake-glide-shimmy-cry-laugh-sigh to music that makes me feel powerful and invincible while I wait for my morning coffee to brew.

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown when I begin each morning by sitting on the floor, lighting a candle, and making random repetitive marks across a page, exploring how different colours dance and clash when combined. 

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown when I record songs without rehearsing or writing the lyrics in advance and just let whatever needs to come out come out: songs of yearning and uncertainty, frustrated shout-sung diatribes, and smooth soothing lullabies.

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown when I paint without letting myself look at the canvas/page.

I have no idea what is going to happen next. But maybe that’s a good thing. Because it means we can create it together.

Love,

Rose Wintergreen

x

 (One of the bards for this season)

PS I wrote this listening to this playlist I made of songs that help soothe me in times of unsettling change.

PPS A couple of weeks ago at the service I asked “What’s just one thing that brings you peace, and makes you feel at home in your body in the current moment, no matter what else is going on?”

I made a list of your answers, so we can all refer back to it when we are feeling overwhelmed or stuck… 

• Doing jigsaw puzzles

• Painting circles over and over again across a page

• Licking or eating a lemon or something else with a shocking flavour

• Spending time with objects stored in a precious “sensory treasure box” – squeezable stress toys, putty, objects with parts to press, spin, etc. (collected from the kids toy section at department stores, and cheap import shops)

• Journaling gratitude, lists of happy memories or things to look forward to, or negative beliefs with best-friend replies

• Jumping up and down and thrashing arms and hair about for 10-20 seconds

• Having a warm/hot shower, but turning it straight cold at the end (a reset for the central nervous system)

• Standing in a superhero power-stance for a couple of minutes whilst reliving a highlight reel of happy memories

• Drawing a hissy-fit mandala (draw a massive circle on a page, then fill it with marks, scribbles and words of any emotions or thoughts you want to let go of, and then destroying it when it’s finished, by tearing it up/screwing it up into a ball and throwing it out into the rubbish or burning it)

• Going for a walk and paying attention to nature (variation: pretending you are an ant or bird and attempting to notice new things that they would see that humans usually don’t)