The next day, when I arrived at camp, I was encouraged to go get my wrist X rayed. Even before the creativity retreat started, I had a right hand splinted, which made it mostly unusable. And yes, I am right handed.
Would I have still gone to the retreat had I known? Yes I would have but I would have packed differently--I ended up with lots of articles of clothing that wouldn't go over the splint, sweaters and things.
Over the 15 years that I've been attending this retreat, it's become less of an event for me about trying new things and discovering new art forms. I've made deep friendships that are rekindled each year with this retreat. That's the main reason I go, and I don't need the use of my right hand for that.
Still it was strange to see all the creativity around me and not to do it--so I decided to see what my left hand could do. It's one of those things that many a creativity book tells you to try: use your non-dominant hand and see what happens.
At first I started with watercolors. I had been enjoying the azalea bushes and so I tried to capture them. That went well so I did something more abstract, which turned into a descending dove.
I then did another piece with watercolor, which I used as the basis of a collage.
The next day I tried doing zentangles with my left hand, but as I expected that required a level of precision that I can't do with my left hand yet. But there were colored markers on the table, so I started to sketch with those. Part of me wonders if this sketch that I did with my left hand is so very different from what I might have created with my right hand.
I didn't do much writing while I was away, even though I had the computer. I did get some reading done for seminary classes, so that was good. the weather was beautiful, but I didn't feel like going on a walk. It was almost hot by the middle of the day, and my splint makes me feel even warmer and itchier--or maybe that's just an excuse.
I enjoyed being surrounded by creative folks, and I got some ideas for future retreats of my own, which will be a subject for another blog post. At the end of the retreat, we walked the labyrinth created by cloth braids, which I recognized from an earlier retreat.
In fact, I had provided fabric strips for people to write prayers on, strips which we later braided together. And now, 10 years later, we're still using those braids to create a labyrinth--what a great metaphor for community.
I had always assumed that only death would prevent us from having this community, but the last three years have shown me that the world is more fragile then I knew. People can move away, diseases can change the way we gather, institutions which once seemed solid may not be. That realization made the joy of being together even more vivid, and I wouldn't have missed it just because I had a broken wrist.
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