Reflection From Atlantic Center for the Arts Retreat (10/21)

Sisterhood

It is not a word that slips easily into my vocabulary. Wedged between brothers, of course I yearned for a female ally that would raise her feminist fist alongside me. I have best friends and cousins that are like sisters, and I love them dearly and in a unique way from other relationships. I felt great comfort and joy when all of these women were present at my mother’s funeral.

I Know Me

I have always been an independent, introverted, loner. Most of my life I have been self-employed, the boss, or the teacher.

Scary Parts

Giving a speech is easy, working the room, not so much. I never felt in need of a tribe. I have always taken workshops and classes in other locations. But a retreat is different with the frightening expectation of bonding.

Cooking and Cleaning

I had been on retreat with other artists before. We worked independently, and I was the only painter. The sense of community was fostered in the kitchen the way women have done since the beginning of time. The chemistry was magical, and the dinner conversations went on until late. I left with new friends and a suspicion that this was a rare occurrence.

New Kid

Recently I was invited to a retreat for artists with the promise of sisterhood. Not a requirement for me. I went for the studio space, late painting hours, writing component, and Chef Tom cooking my meals for 11 days.

We arrived late afternoon. There were cheery greetings as we unloaded our gear, set up our studios, and dorm rooms. It had a first day of college feel about it. Most of the women had been together before. I was the only person who didn’t know anyone.

Dinner was accompanied by exchanges of where are you from and what will you work on and ravings about the Chef. Talented chef for sure and very nice ladies. As expected.

I jumped right into my work the very next morning in the buzz of studio activities. As expected.

I had my consultation with Fran. She was brilliant and I was inspired. As expected.

Something Shifted

It was during our first roundtable discussion after lunch that I was transformed. And moved to tears. Not as expected.

I am not a big crier, especially not in public. But there I was, choking back sobs.

Fran said since we have all been part of a show publicized in a paper then we are archived for eternity, and we will live on through our art. And there was a collective gasp. I felt some existential dread start to dissipate. And I knew I was not alone. I was safe among the sisters.

Kismet

Oh Universe, how you always surprise me with gifts I did not know I needed. Fran, Beau, Kathy, Martha, Donna, Carson, Toni, Cheri, Barbara, Patricia, Pat, and Eli.

I was welcomed and inducted into the sisterhood by the generous spirit of these women artists.

Why This Matters

There were professional collaborations, associations, mentors, teachers, Girl Scouts, friends. There are relationships with individual artists with whom I share a unique bond and speak a language that others don’t.

At this retreat, there was a trinity: artists, strong women, and a shared learning experience. We took turns being the teacher and the student.

How This Happened

With the hallmark of a skilled and confident facilitator, Fran allowed this to happen. She provided exemplars and structure for a safe environment that made critiques beneficial, insightful, and articulate.

Plans

I intended to reflect and share the artsy parts of the retreat. I am sure they will weave into future writing. For today, this was the story that came to me.

Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.