It's a foggy November day at the cabin. Woody the dog is standing in front of me, smiling, tongue hanging out, panting heavily after a solid half hour of ball throwing in our favourite field. He'll settle down shortly into a contented restful state. I'm looking forward to that (I find the panting slightly unnerving). 

I planned my visit back here with less enthusiasm than usual. November isn't generally the best time of year to spend here: it's wet, and as I can't get my car through the muddy fields I can't park up anywhere nearby so there is more effort and lugging involved in getting unpacked. But it was more than just the boring practical side of things. I have had a growing sadness about the fact that I no longer seem to relish the prospect of alone time. 

In recent months (perhaps years) I've come to realise that I am not enjoying solitude or being in my own company as much as I used to. This has irked me greatly. As I'm sure I've mentioned before, I've always had a great love of solitude and valued the importance of it, even writing my High School Psychology course essay at the age of 18 on the value and joy of solitude. It's challenging to be confronted with what you feel is a known truth about yourself and thinking that it is no longer true, navigating a way to come to terms with no longer being the person that I have defined myself to be. Perhaps this new version of me simply doesn't enjoy my own company like I used to. 

I have spent far too much of my life thinking things in very black and white, right or wrong terms (I am continuing to work on this). So my default was to think that I had a new insight into who I am and that I am no longer someone who  enjoys solitude. How very sad and disappointing! But I have a cabin in the woods and the whole (or at least a huge part) of my desire to have a cabin in the woods was to enjoy alone time.

In consequence, the weeks and days leading up to my visit were spent planning: planning how to jam pack my days, texting people to arrange plans for whilst I was there (I also have this thing where I feel I shouldn't 'waste' my visits but that's a whole other thing).

 As is often the way, many of those plans had to be changed and I also got a cold which meant cancelling others. I ended up spending 3 days on my own with Woody  at the cabin (with just one evening out for a games night with friends). During those days I launched myself into a new book that I had bought especially for the trip, one that I had been looking forward to coming out and saved just for this occasion. I enjoyed time spent cooking for myself. I hung my 'paint by numbers' painting up of a stag that I had finished. I hung a peg rail up on the wall where the wood burner is so I'd have somewhere to hang damp towels and clothing. And I felt happy. Really happy. And fulfilled.

I didn't realise it at the time but as I went on a walk with Woody as my cold was starting to subside I realised that I was once again finding the joy of quiet days at the cabin. There is something about walking isn't there that makes thoughts and ideas come gently to your mind, easing their way into your consciousness in a way that makes you go 'Huh, interesting'. And I realised that I'd fallen into that trap of black and white thinking again: that I had once loved solitude and then I had become someone who didn't. But of course it's not quite so simple as that is it? Like everything, it can be something that comes and goes. And it can't be forced. I couldn't force myself to enjoy solitude again, it just happened. 

The same could also be said for the act of writing. I have felt zero interest or pull to do any blog writing for quite some time but during that same walk, contemplating all these things, I suddenly felt the urge to write again. It too feels like something that cannot be forced and honestly, I really must try to remember not to try to push myself on that front again in future. Note to self. 

However, while all this feels true for me, I do feel like there are some things I do need to force myself into. Or at least force a 'start', because it's always the starting that is the challenge, the fear leading up to the starting.  For me I need to force myself into the act of play, especially where taking photographs is concerned. 

I was listening to a new favourite podcast and they were discussing the need for fun in our lives and also talking about distinguishing the difference between rest and fun/play which made me think about my own relationship to rest and fun/play. 

As I watched Woody play with the ball and saw the joy on his face, I thought about how much he loves to play, how he doesn't have to force himself to play. He doesn't worry about doing it wrong or someone criticising how he plays. 

So I got the 5x4 large format film camera out, which is slowly becoming less of a scary beast the more I play with it. I gave myself the constraint of only taking photos in and around the cabin with it and using either Black and White negative film or Black and White Direct Positive Paper. And it was fun. I need to retrain my brain to embrace the fun, the play and have it feel a bit more meaningless and purposeless. Play shouldn't have an emphasis on being productive. 

Many blogs ago I wrote a piece titled 'Be more squirrel'. This post reads a bit like 'Be more dog'. Like Woody, who is now sleeping on the sofa beside me, a session of play has helped me feel more contented, fulfilled and balanced and now I'm going to enjoy my rest time and devour the rest of that book.

Current and Upcoming Exhibitions of Where the Red Kite Flies 

Coed Pella and Oriel Colwyn

The Northern Eye Festival, Colwyn Bay

October-January 2023/4

Sheffield University

February 2024

Upcoming artist talks, exhibition tours and workshops 

Oriel Colwyn and Coed Pella

Friday Dec 6th and Saturday Dec 7th

Contact Paul Sampson at Oriel Colwyn for more info and to book