The Journey

We often yearn to return. Wistfully, to the distant past. The places where our fondest memories still shine brightly. Daring exploits in which we frequently remember ourselves as heroes. While we cannot enter that reality again, we can select a different path. Now much older, I choose to return to the alpine climbs and high routes of my youth by making determined marks on paper. My journey exists in a different medium with the tools of the fine artist rather than ropes, crampons, and ice axe, the tools of the creative alpinist. You would think it a safer route to take and you would be right, but only in the physical sense.

My practice and acquisition of rock climbing and mountaineering skills took place in the mountains, on the rock, snow, and ice, rather than in a climbing gym. Back then, there was no such thing. All our field study and effort were to make ourselves ready for the bigger, longer, more technically demanding objectives that we would encounter higher in the mountains. Most of our education, after a few rudimentary classes, consisted of progressive self-instruction gained both from the doing of the routes and watching our friends. The rope handling and other practices of the art form of climbing, became gradually integrated into our skill sets, so they became second nature.

Confidence was a most important attribute for climbers, and those shorter routes in no small way contributed to building that attribute. In the process, we met others from the same tribe and expanded our portfolio of climbing partners, learning from each other, stoking the fires of desire, and moving forward. A heady time, as we diligently prepared ourselves and passed through a gateway to a larger alpine world, a world that we were so inexorably drawn to by the power of our mountain dreams.

Those dreams still resonate within and as I struggle to express them on paper, I find the challenge still considerable, perhaps even greater. Even with college instruction in fine arts, I now find myself back at what feels like the beginning. The terror of the blank page is real. Hesitation and procrastination delay the moment of the first pencil marks, the beginning of a committed journey. And, even once started, the path to completion is sometimes muddled with confusion and fear. What next? How will I finish this piece without screwing it up? It helps to recall the committed path of the Samurai. There is only one direction, forward.

As with climbing, my visualization skills still conceive of projects for which my abilities are not yet ready. I suppose that is okay if I somehow reconcile the time devoted to skill building as a doorway to achieving my artistic dreams. They need each other I tell myself. Without dreams what is there? My dreams provide the impetus to move forward and engage in daily practice that will help make them a reality.

Curiously, I have found a new tribe, that of the pen and ink illustrators who bravely exhibit their work on the pages of an international Facebook group. They are kindred spirits, all seeking expression and progress in their artistic quest. And, through considered examination, I am learning from their efforts. It is not unlike how we benefitted from each other in those heady days of yesteryear, scaling those magnificent rocky cliffs, icy faces, and snowy peaks.

In the present, now acquiring and building technique and ability in the medium of art, I look for confidence in my abilities to emerge. It is happening, slowly. Not as quick as my not very patient self would like. Learning new skills is always a challenge and, I reflect, perhaps a metaphor for life itself.

The never-ending journey.