Easter at the home of my mother-in-law, brings tending to the level of an artform
Tending. What I’ve been thinking about tending in the last few days is that it fundamentally ‘gets’ that whatever you are tending to already knows what to do, how to grow in its own way. What the tender does is gently meet any needs needed to help that growth along (like watering plants in the summer), but mostly it’s just about paying attention and making a space, big enough and constant for growth to happen.
That the tended whatever-it-is is thriving by our regard and encouragement, not our active intervention. The ‘realization’ thing is much more about pushing, isn’t it? Assuming one knows best and can step in to make the growth happen in the way one thinks it ought to.
I notice, with the falling away of outside work demands, after the initial months of resistance and disorientation, my days are finding their own rhythm. It still feels like an in between time because up until now, my life has been a pendulum swinging from long incubation periods to ones of 100% engagement. But this summer there is no urge to fill this time. I don’t pick up my crafts projects, I’ve put aside my current writing project, and there is no motivation at all to seek outside work. In fact when I do get asked to do something, it often feels like an intrusion on this tending time.
I am painting though, the work is inspiring me and is a source of joy and challenge.