Blind contour drawing is a natural antidote to anxiety. Subject: Winter branch. Tools: Derwent 4B Wash pencil and Silver Black Velvet brush no. 4.
— L Doctor sketchbook from a winter walk at St Meinrad Archabbey

Doesn’t everyone have a day when things fall apart? When it takes more effort than you think you have to put one foot in front of another? When even your technical devices seem to collude against you?

My reverie, pure joy, after my exhibit was done, ended abruptly with a letter from the IRS announcing they are coming to audit my business next week. On top of this, my intrepid father, at 96, fell for the first time and broke a bone.

So my retreat here at St Meinrad, scheduled so long ago, has been infiltrated with dread and piles of papers. The amount of sorting and retrieving of records is overwhelming, seven detailed pages of requests from the IRS … which calls to mind, once again, the old Greek story of Psyche. Her first impossible task was to sort seven different kinds of seeds, filling a gigantic room, floor to ceiling, before nightfall, before Aphrodite announces her time is up. I am thankful for these stories, and for the way a story puts the human dilemma in perspective. Just this morning, on my first day of this retreat, my son, who was born a muse, called. Ma, I had this dream. In a big room were all these small piles of seeds neatly sorted, and a spiral of seeds floating upward.

His dream is the gift of an image, a spiral being a transcendent metaphor of the big circle we are in — the pattern of departure and return repeating itself with each generation, every sunset and sunrise, every darkness becoming light. The vision of the spiral in his dream is a recognition of something you already know: that in the stories — just as when the ants come to help sort the seeds while Psyche sleeps — aid comes from unexpected places, and not when you are expecting it.

I have learned that when I shift my focus from how much I need to get done, to doing something that feels worthy, no matter how small, that this act creates a place where anxiety cannot flourish. Even more than this, “doing worthy” paradoxically seems to increase, rather than diminish, the ability to complete impossible tasks. In my experience, taking time away from the impossible task that is filling you with anxiety seems to create more time, clarity, and ability to do what needs to be done. The tasks are called impossible because that is how it feels when you are in that part of the story, not because you cannot do impossible things.

So I made the decision on this retreat that I would set aside time each day for the piles of sorting, but that my mornings would be devoted to something “worthy.” I set out on winter walks each day to pay attention, and to find something to draw.

Most of you are familiar with the practice of blind contour drawing, but just to be clear, let me walk through the process with you. In this exercise, you draw with your eyes on the subject. The act of drawing something with your eyes on it, not on your paper, is such a beautiful, natural way to really “see,” as your mind is not able to interfere, intruding with its inevitable judgements about right, wrong, good, bad, ugly, beautiful. You can look back at your paper during this process, but you only move your pencil when you are looking at your subject. This practice is about seeing and quality of line, not accuracy! No erasers or edits!

Don’t be afraid to be messy or have one image overlap another, and don’t worry if it is unrecognizable:

Overlapping blind contour images L Doctor Sketchbook

You can see a short video of my blind contour drawing from my winter retreat below:

It is important that the pencil stays on the paper at all times. No lifts. This helps to keep your mind from wandering and to develop a fluid, unself-conscious line. Even five minutes of blind contour drawing each day will sharpen your vision, develop confidence, and, if you keep it up, develop your ability to draw well. The only prerequisites are desire and persistence. It has nothing to do with “talent,” whatever that is.

Stay with this practice, and it will bring you into your body, and even into a sense of the presence of the subject itself. I think, if you persist long enough, you cannot help loving the thing that you are drawing, and forgetting about yourself and your worries.

The practice of blind contour drawing transfers to when I sketch outside, developing the habit of looking at my subject and leaving my pencil on the paper. (From an early spring sketches) L Doctor

Applying the practice of blind contour drawing to a pointed brush and ink L Doctor Sketchbook

The sorting process also led to looking through my old journals, and I find things I wrote that I don’t remember writing. This one makes me smile, as if it was sent by a friend, as a reminder:

I don’t know
if paying attention makes
the small miracle
or just shows me
what is already here —
or if there is any difference?
Or am I learning to pray?

Paying attention to the natural world, writing on paper, reading physical books, having warm face-to-face conversation, going to the library, taking substantial time away from screens, drawing outside with a pencil — these are all now revolutionary acts. Now, at the end of the retreat, I see it is also what stitches me back together.

The New Year brings feelings of possibility, and foreboding. Where you put your attention matters. What are your ways of getting through when your feet are heavy with dread? What revolutionary acts do you enjoy? I’d love to hear from you.

There are a few spaces in my classes at ABC 2020 in Alberta, Canada this summer:

The second one is a two day: