Creating Space To See

It’s been a rather Japanese-inspired week.

A few days ago, I took part in an Ikebana workshop — the Japanese art of flower arranging — and came away feeling rather moved.

I'm not usually one for following instructions, which was perhaps just as well because, when I looked at the set we'd been given, I could not make head nor tail of them!

I was sitting at the back of the room. Each time our teacher demonstrated an arrangement, I found myself walking to the front, taking a photograph and trying to recreate what I'd seen.

When she came around to look at my arrangement, she told me it was working well.

A little later, her colleague came over and made the slightest adjustment to the position of one of my chrysanthemums.

I immediately felt the difference.

It was as though the flower suddenly felt completely at home in its new position.

Such a tiny adjustment, but the effect it had on the whole arrangement was incredibly strong.

When the two women circled the room once again, I told them what I'd experienced. They smiled and explained that this was exactly the kind of awareness they hoped people would develop, although relatively few seemed to feel it quite so strongly.

They told me I would make a good Ikebana arranger because I could feel what the flower wanted.

That really stayed with me.

Perhaps there is something within Ikebana I already understand?

There was another lesson waiting for me too.

Throughout the workshop, we were repeatedly asked to remove our flowers from the kenzan — the spiked holder supporting the stems — and begin again.

I could sense a little frustration around the room. We'd just created something we liked and now we were being asked to dismantle it.

It made me realise how quickly we can become attached to what we create.

Sometimes we need to be willing to take something apart, not because it is wrong, but simply to discover what else might be possible in that moment.

In our final arrangement, we were asked to create an opening so the water beneath could be seen. Our teacher described the space being created as a valley of tranquillity.

That idea really resonated with me and I could feel why this may be really important.

Creating spaces for reflection is something I believe in.

When we create the right  space, we begin to see. We notice our patterns. We become more aware of what feels right — and what doesn't.

And apparently, that wasn't quite enough Japanese inspiration for one week. Clearly, the Universe had another idea up its sleeve.

A few days later, at the local Makers of the Moor event, I met Sam Stevens of SJS Ceramics UK, who creates beautiful pieces using a Japanese technique called nerikomi.

Sam explained how different colours of porcelain clay are layered together to create a block. When the block is sliced through, the patterns running through those layers are revealed.

Each piece is unique, telling its own visual story of how the colour and pattern have been shaped.

Well. I was fascinated.

I began thinking about the patterns that run through our own layers. Our experiences, memories and beliefs. The things we have inherited, absorbed and created for ourselves. Some sit close to the surface. Others seem to run much more deeply.

It reminded me of the work I do with energy and alchemy, and something we explore within my Family of Light programme.

Sometimes we think we have dealt with something, only to find what appears to be the same pattern showing up yet again.

But perhaps we haven't gone backwards at all - rather encountering that pattern at another layer.

And sometimes even the smallest adjustment can affect the whole.

A flower moved slightly within an arrangement.

A space created to reveal the water that provides nourishment.

A pattern revealed within layers of clay.

Two very different Japanese traditions found their way into my life within the space of a few days, and both seemed to be reminding me of something I already knew.

We need to create the right kind of space to really see.

To see the patterns that run through us, the things we have become attached to, and the subtle shifts that could simply change everything.

It’s not about forcing change, but seeing clearly enough to know where change is asking to happen.

Gabrielle

Photo: I bought this colourful little bowl from Sam Stevens. It looks beautiful on my dressing table. The Ikebana workshop was led by Di Norman who is a sub Grand Master of the Ohara School of Ikebana. I am certain there will be more photos to come as I begin to explore these Japanese art forms that are new to me.

We Grow Together

Nature • Colour • Creativity • Connection • Personal & Spiritual Growth