Seeing Spring, Again.

Today I was a rodeo horse, a catapult, a trampoline, a lifeguard, a cook, a librarian, and a merry maid. 

Spring is here. It is impossible to look out the window or drive down the road or heaven forbid embrace the pollen and actually sit on the deck without feeling hopeful and maybe even smiling a little. It is time to open the windows and encourage the kids to discover things; it is time to allow dirt under nails and in hair, to look the other way when they run with sticks and water daddy's flowers with a 2 liter squirt gun.

This time of year always brings me back to the art of seeing. This is a topic that has been exhausted by writers and artists since the beginning of time. For me, I first really became aware of seeing when I read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard in college. She devotes an entire essay to the art of seeing—and if you didn't know I am a big Annie Dillard fan, now you do.

I have noticed that my ability to see things changes with my surroundings, my circumstances, and the way the wind is blowing on any given day. When I was studying writing, I was constantly on the lookout for writing material. I needed fresh ideas to fulfill assignments and I saw everything through the lens of a writer. In grad school I found myself suddenly in paradise—taking only art classes: painting, drawing, printmaking. My focus shifted to the endless possibilities of art projects all around me in nature, people, everything. I remember being very aware of colors. I was constantly looking at shadows as much as light; I was on the lookout for light sources and I would squint my eyes to frame in every potential masterpiece.

I was thinking about those days recently and realizing how little time I have to be aware of shadows and light sources, but I'm very aware of the dirt on my baseboards and the old rice grains crusted to the tile on my kitchen floor. Mommy eyes have temporarily replaced these lenses, and it is a wonderful thing. However, I wonder if I incorporated a little more artist into my vision, would we all benefit?

We all know how kids see the world. Their vision is pretty selfish, but at the same time completely uninhibited and spontaneous. They begin the day hopeful and excited to see what adventures they can discover, not drowning themselves in coffee and bothered by having to come up with yet another meal that will please three picky little mouths.

It is easy to be hopeful in the Spring. When the purple irises and the white daffodils are blooming I know that it has happened again; we made it through winter after all and the green and blue is back in full force. The faithful return of blooms helps me combine mommy eyes with artist eyes; it is easier to give suggestions on how to build a better tree fort and push higher in swings and ignore the sand that is tracked in from the sand box.

Tonight as I was brushing my teeth I glanced in the mirror. I saw my sun burnt shoulders and my pink nose. But as I looked more closely I saw lines and dots scattered across the pink—pale white skin dots, a map across my arms and face. I laughed because they are the familiar markings of a mother who has applied sunscreen to multiple kids. A fingerprint on my cheek, a stray streak down the length of my arm. Is this the way it goes? Hopefully I can keep the vision of fresh Spring blooms, crisp and sweet, and let my eyes be more worshipful and loving and perhaps a little less exhaustingly practical.

"But there is another kind of seeing that involves letting go. When I see this way I sway transfixed and emptied. The difference between the two ways of seeing is the difference between walking with and without a camera. When I walk with a camera, I walk from shot to shot, reading the light on a calibrated meter. When I walk without a camera, my own shutter opens, and the moment's light prints on my own silver gut. When I see this second way I am above all an unscrupulous observer."

~Annie Dillard's essay on Seeing from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek