In 2015 we were moving from Lewistown Montana to Billings. We were doing so in a market much like today, where there are more buyers than there are houses. We were fortunate, we had a great realtor and found a great condo in a great neighborhood. But because the market was so hot, we needed to close on the new place before our house in Lewistown sold. In Lewistown the situation was reversed, there were more houses for sale than buyers able to buy them. It took some months, but we did finally get an offer. But there were a couple contingencies that needed to be resolved, so we had a deal, but not quite. I remember the tremendous stress I felt, owning and worrying about two houses and being stuck between leaving a place, and settling into a new one.
A few weeks ago, at a Bible study group, there was some discussion of "liminal space," often referred to in Christianity as the "thin veil." The place between the physical and the spiritual worlds. I honestly didn't understand it, never really put a name to it, so I did some research (thank you Professor Google). Since then, I've become sort of obsessed with the concept. Liminal space is a transition place, a space between what was and what will be. Physical liminal spaces can be hallways, roadways, airports. A place you are at that is neither your starting point nor your destination. Psychological liminal spaces can be emotional, like breakups, divorce, or moving; or they can be metaphorical, like decisions or choices. You are neither at a beginning nor an end, but sort of stuck waiting it out.
This moving experience was so much of that, stuck between what was and what was to be. Somewhere between leaving one place and settling into another.
I have been, and am still, terribly uncomfortable with the unknown. When I look back at my life and the times of greatest stress, most have to do with my discomfort with being in a state of transition. Of being in the middle of something and not being able to predict the outcome. I get uncomfortable when I am "stuck" in a liminal space, waiting for an outcome but with little or no control, and no assurance about how it will all turn out.
But in learning more about all this and the challenges of this "stuckness", it seems that my anxiety comes from focusing too much on the past or future, and not being in the moment. Not appreciating what is right in front of me because in my mind I'm already focusing on the outcome, the end. I remember clearly, even all these years later, a time while we were still waiting for the sale of that house in Lewistown to finalize, the final contingency to be cleared, when we went to a concert. I can still recall vividly all the thoughts that went on in my head while we were sitting there listening to the music; worries about the sale falling through, about owning and being responsible for two properties, the impact on our bank accounts owning and maintaining two properties. I don't remember a thing about the concert.
Not exactly living in the moment!
I've had a rough couple of weeks in my art. Watercolor, at least to me, has several phases. The start is fun, you have a bank sheet of paper taped to your board and an idea. The end is fun, adding little finishing touches and details to the work. The middle is often an uncomfortable liminal space. A place of faith. Very rarely do my paintings start off like I expect them too. After the first wash I am almost always disappointed. What was in my head is not manifesting itself in my execution. In many cases I am honestly tempted to rip it all up and throw it away; I just don't know how I'm going to take this mess of lines and paint and turn it into something good. To make it into something I am proud of. Because that is the goal, that is where I am focused.
So, in my art right now I have that big painting, that big mess, on the board. I am sitting squarely in the liminal space where I am not sure how it will turn out, and I am frustrated. Anxious about the time I am wasting only to feed the recycling bin, the wasted cost of a big sheet of 140 lb cold press, frustrated with my ability as an artist, and wondering if I am making good use of my time or would I do better to spend it cleaning the downstairs bathrooms.
But I've read, that redirecting the power of these liminal spaces is possible. That though they are uncomfortable places, they present an opportunity to grow and let your life become something new. They are a time that spurs creativity, a time of learning, a time where you can see life more clearly.
So instead of focusing on the anxiety of being between here and there on my ugly painting, I took three hours yesterday to experiment with color. To play with color. With no expectation of how it will all turn out, what I will do with all of it when I am done, or if I was even spending my time wisely. I just mixed and made colors swatches to see how different paint colors reacted. Just living in the moment, just paying attention to it unfolding in front of me.
The three hours passed so quickly, I had a lot of fun doing it, and I learned a lot about color in the process.
And a lot about myself.
Everything between birth and death is liminal space, and within those boundaries are countless subsets of metaphorical birth and death. All with their own "in between" time. Looking back, I've spent so much mental energy worrying about how things will turn out, and not enough time just being. I'm not getting any younger. I can't change the past, or predict the future, but I think I need to try to stop worrying so much about them.