If you’ve ever been pregnant, you’ve probably experienced the odd phenomenon guaranteed to drive you crazy if you aren't prepared for it. If you think you MAY be pregnant someday, be forewarned.
Complete strangers want to touch your belly.
I’m guilty of it myself, though I swore I never would be. But once I watched in horror as my hand flew out to touch another woman’s tummy. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind.
I never minded myself. It seemed to me to be one of those gestures that goes with the territory. But I used to think about it a lot.
I think often about behaviors that seem to be universal or predictable. To me, they seem to signal something profoundly human. Something that is so integral to us BEING human, we don’t even remark on it except to say, “Why do people DO that??”
I thought about why we feel compelled to touch in such a way. My theory is, a pregnant woman is visible evidence of the impending new life inside her. The ultimate creation, if you will. It is still astonishing, a miracle, to consider a new person on their way into the world. We want to be a part of it, however small, however fleeting. And so we reach out to touch. I believe it is our way of literally having a hand in their journey.
That belly is in the way, of course. Also new social mores that frown on messing with the stomach of a woman you may not even know. But that gesture is our way of CONNECTING to that impending miracle. It goes way, way back in our DNA to the awe and mystery surrounding such a creative state.
I recently attended a beautiful fair of fine craft here in New England, a top-rated show with a great artist-friendly reputation. I had volunteered to work the booth for a new organization I’ve recently joined.
I got to take in the view from the other side of the fence for a change. I also found an insight into a similar side effect of the creative process.
Among the familiar faces I found a new artist whose work fascinated me. Her name is Susan Lenart Kazmer, and you can see an image of the work that caught my interest here: http://www.susanlenartkazmer.net/energy_talisman.htm Yes, those are pencils!
I was so interested in the piece I made a point of stopping by her booth to hear more about it. She told a fascinating story of African schoolchildren who have so little, yet work so fiercely with what few resources they have. Susan imagined all their energy flowing into their pencils as they wrote and figured, all that good intention and hope pooling there. She collected pencils, wrapped them in fragments of her poetry, and made this talismen necklace.
I loved her work so much that though I could ill afford it, I ended up buying a very small, simple piece of her work. Why? Because I loved her work. I was inspired by her creativity and exuberance for her work. Because I want her to have a good show, and I wanted to patronize her work. And I wanted to have a teensy, weensy part in her future success.
It’s a phenomenon I experience myself from time to time, again on the other side of the fence. We have fans and admirers cheering us on from the sidelines, people who either love our work, or love us, or simply appreciate our efforts. They want to help us in any way they can. They are our art patrons. They are our Good Samaritans.
There’s a thin line between the good energy that comes from their efforts and the negative energy when that line gets crossed. People with good intentions can come up with very bad ideas of how we the artist can have more success! But here I was in those shoes. And I hope I didn’t cross that line.
In my eagerness to “help”, I started to give Susan a tip about getting more of her work published by a craft book company we’ve both done projects for. Halfway through, I realized I hadn’t asked her if she WANTED more of her work published by them. I did so, and fortunately for me, she did. (Or at least, she politely pretended she did....)
I also supported her financially by purchasing a necklace. It wasn’t the one I THOUGHT I wanted—there were others more extraordinary and intriguing--but it was the first one that caught my eye and the one I kept returning to. I know enough about how people shop now to know it was the one for me.
The last few days I’ve been thinking about all the people who have reached out to me over this past year, in so many different ways. And how very different their approaches, their suggestions and their intentions have been. United, for the most part, in their simple desire to have a small hand in my future success. Because they care.
Today I really, truly appreciate every single gesture, no matter how unsolicited, misplaced or awkward they may have seemed at the time. I have reached that point where I am grateful ANYONE in this world cares enough about me, my work, or my intentions, to take even five minutes of their time to reach out and say, “I care. I want to see this happen for you. I can help you this way.”
It reminds me again of an astonishing gesture on the part of Linda Ruel Flynn, manager of the Fiber Art Center’s gift shop in Amherst, MA who called me a few weeks ago out of the blue. She said she had been reading my blog for a long time, and enjoyed them so much. She wanted to offer something back. “How can I help YOU?” she said.
I was so astonished I laughed. She thought I was making fun of the idea that she could help me. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I was laughing for pure joy. Because that offer struck me as so pure, so simple. What do I need? I hadn’t even thought about that for myself for awhile.... And now here was someone else thinking it for me.
At that moment, I felt the universe leap up ever so slightly to meet me as I jumped. My more pragmatic husband will cringe. Heck, I’M cringing. But that’s what it felt like.
So from the sweetest offer from Linda, to the most heavy-handed suggestion that I make cards, or use more pink, or incorporate kitties into my work, from the gift of beaver-chewed sticks delivered to my door step to the gift of a pair of odds and ends jewelry “to make something interesting from” or a shared link, I thank all those people over the years who have wanted to help.
You truly are Good Samaritans.
