Six years ago, I worked my way through The Artist's Way. I have journals full of daily writing pages that I rarely visit, but folded in my pocket is a list of my touchstones:
the smell of lavender
the colour of the sea
the sound of skylarks
the smell of my child's hair
spotting a seal
a black and white photograph taken by my father
Van Gogh's blue
a knitted blanket
the roar of wind
full moon walking.
Today my pocket is full of pinecones. My three year old daughter danced her way through the forest by the sea, collecting pinecone after pinecone to stick in my pocket. I wonder, are pinecones on her not-even-written touchstone list? Maybe practicing this ancient behavior--all this collecting--has a purpose. Is it the dance of art? Is it the walk of creativity? The path of connection? The site of beauty?
My daughter shows me how to approach a simple ordinary object as if it were the most unique object in the world.
With wonder and with awe, she chases beauty.