Over the last decade after creating large healing art installations for ArtPrize in Grand Rapids, Michigan, serving tens of thousands of visitors, managing around fifty volunteers a year, figuring out how to financially sustain my art business, struggling to secure a venue to host my work, and buying over 335,000 interactive supplies for the ArtPrize audience, I needed time for solitude and creative rest.
The whole idea started while meeting a new friend for coffee at Union Station in Denver. While discussing all my exciting adventures in helping tons of people experience healing art over the last ten years, my friend, Laurie, simply said, “Pamela, I think you need to take time for rest and recharging.”
I admit I was tired. In fact, I was worn thin. I had worked really hard for a decade. For an artist, the creative journey is often uphill. I’m not whining here; I’m just making a statement about the typical artist’s way.
Laurie proceeded to offer me a week of solitude at her guest cabin on her ranch in the mountains. Wow! How could I turn down such an unusual and generous gift?!
So, this January with great anticipation, I packed my heavy snow clothes, boots with Yaktrax, journal, pens, and a few carefully selected books—and headed west. Before reaching Denver, I had arranged rides to my mountain retreat and back. Of course, my week of solitude was carless. I mean Ernest Shackleton didn’t have a car on his arctic expedition, right?
After driving into the mountains, a quaint, snow-covered cabin, my home for the next several days, came into view. Then a new and unexpected feeling prickled through me: anxiety. A week…alone and carless? I almost started crying as I watched my ride disappear back down the slope. But the discomfort passed within a few moments when I sat down to plan my schedule—and unplugged from social media.
Here’s a quick glimpse at my week: Life becomes very simple with no car and no Internet.
Day One: Put away my paintbrushes for a bit and fell back into the deep snow to stare at the big blue sky.
Day Two: Made a gratitude list.
Day Three: Watched a herd of elk disappear over the ridge and went snowshoeing later in the day—following the elk tracks.
Day Four: Read and reflected.
Day Five: Set goals and evaluated my art direction.
Day Six: Packed my suitcase and headed back to Denver with a renewed spirit—ready to create new art!
My friend had given me a valuable spiritual retreat. Although art had opened the door for many exciting adventures and many special new friends, I had needed something else. I had needed rest. As I headed back down to routine and busyness, I whispered a prayer of thanksgiving.
Open Hands, inspired by Babette’s Feast on stage, first debuted on the streets of New York City in March of 2018. This mobile work continued in Denver area schools and, then in 2019, the spontaneous work showed up on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.
But visitors’ desire to write messages on the wristbands couldn’t be altered; they were determined. So, at the last minute, I had to scramble to come up with pens. Thankfully, one of my volunteers kindly brought a box of 50 used pens. After a decade of experience with large crowds at my interactive exhibits, I was pretty sure that 50 pens would only last two or three days.
