From the field: February 2023

The Collective community shares significant and meaningful moments in their lives as artists and artist-thinkers.

from Jill Burlingame Tsekouras

While I am writing this, my husband walks over and says: “Oh, you have come to Greece and are writing about the famous light here?” I respond, “No, laundry.” He laughs.

We live in the beautiful Athenian light, where it is very common to not have a clothes dryer. The surplus of sun in the warm months makes it almost silly to waste energy and money on drying clothes. But the chilly winter months, and having two kids that make more dirty laundry than seems humanly possible, make drying not so romantic as the cinematic ideal our minds might conjure — of laundry freshly aired outdoors in the Aegean breeze. This year, in the fall, when it was cooler but the leaves of the fruit trees in the yard had not yet fallen, I became hyperaware of when and where the sun was reaching our back balcony throughout the day. While observing this, a funny thing happened: I wanted to see the trees surrounding the yard lifeless and bare. I was waiting and hoping for the time when the deciduous tree leaves would fall and let more light break through (making me sometimes curse the pine and olive trees blocking my precious sun). The inconvenience of not having a dryer forced me to focus on the natural rhythm of nature and not only pay attention to it but appreciate why lifelessness is sometimes needed — to allow more light and warmth.

Based in Athens, Greece, Jill Burlingame Tsekouras is a flutist and Alexander Technique teacher constantly distracted by small humans and the outdoors.

It seems cliché to talk about seasons in life and why they are important, but as artists it is important to stop and take time to notice the natural rhythms of life — those times when we are not inspired, when projects don’t finish, when things take a while to dry without any direct sun. In those moments, search for the leaves that are going to fall soon, the places where maybe you have some things to shed. If we allow it, we can allow ourselves to let go, welcome the waiting time, and become a bit barer like the trees.

We can allow in some light.

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