As I was thinking about what to write, I was getting ready to head out for a 12k run. In fact, I spent a lot of time running this year, all in preparation for my first ever marathon in Loch Ness back in September. It was simultaneously one of the best and hardest things I’ve ever done. Did I want to give up? I have lost count of how many times. But I was so determined to finish it.
In all honesty, I’m not quite sure why I wanted to do this in the first place. Throughout this year, I would frequently be asked the reason I subjected myself to this pain and inconvenience, with most people expecting me to say something noble like that I’m running a marathon for a charitable cause. The simple answer is, all of this training was for me - I’m a person that needs a goal in order to make myself do anything, and that includes running. Running helps me with my head. I hate it and love it at the same time. I’m such a mediocre runner it’s almost embarrassing when people ask me about my marathon time. However, that feeling of finishing something you never thought you could do - it’s priceless.
Before and almost at the end of the Loch Ness Marathon - a bag of nerves vs the face of knowing it's almost the end!!
So why am I writing about running when this newsletter is about my art practice? That’s because running is teaching me a lot about weaving and making.
Working full time in my day job and fitting in weaving in the evenings and weekends is frankly pretty exhausting. Each week I battle with the inner monologue of thinking “I’m a failure, I haven’t achieved what I wanted, and will I ever get there? I might as well just give up.” I’m frustrated that I don’t have as much time as I need to keep making, especially enough headspace. Why on earth did I decide to also fit marathon training into the mix?
Last year as I was toying with the idea of a marathon, I picked up Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. The book is an incredible insight into Murakami’s brain, as well as a snapshot of how he sees running as an essential part of his identity, as well as his writing practice.
Murakami says “Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that’s the essence of running, and a metaphor for life—and for me, for writing as well. I believe many runners would agree.” (emphasis mine)
I could not capture that any better. Running has taught and continually teaches me that you must exert yourself (no questions asked. It helps you focus. I’m so prone to giving up and feeling sorry for myself. Training for a marathon has taught me that there is no giving up. You push. It hurts but you do it and you reap the reward. Over time, my negative perspective has been painstakingly forced to change, the habit of inward shaming is slowly breaking. Same with weaving. After a whole day of working, I come back home and I push. I sit at the loom, get the yarn out and create. I dedicate myself to it. I need to do it to feel alive.
Pursuing an art practice is committing to a lifetime of perseverance and discipline. A lot of people think that it’s a lovely idea to be an artist. Don’t get me wrong, it is so satisfying to make with your hands and to see people interact with your work. But this line of work is not for the faint hearted. It often takes so much time to start making money out of this, and it takes a lot of practice, commitment and skill to make good art. Similar to running, as Murakami says - “Whether it’s raining or windy, I run. Whether I’m sad or happy, I run." The same with weaving - whether I’m feeling it or not, I weave. Whether I’m sad or happy, I weave. And often in those moments of pain, I start to find serendipity.
A quote that really resonated with me was:
“Life is basically unfair. But even in a situation that's unfair, I think it's possible to seek out a kind of fairness. Of course, that might take time and effort. And maybe it won't seem to be worth all that. It's up to each individual to decide whether or not it is.”
Yes, life is unfair. Yes, it’s unfair that many other artists can afford to put more time into their work because they may have more money, and as a result, get ahead faster. But it’s up to me to seek out this kind of fairness, to take opportunities and keep grinding, not complaining. In that process I hope to see whether it’s worth it. I’ve noticed that the harder it is, the more I want to pursue my art practice. In fact, as Murakami says elsewhere “In long-distance running the only opponent you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be.” Running teaches me to keep striving for better, to keep changing and evolving. The same with making - the more time and effort we put in, the better we are, the more work we make and the stronger it becomes.
I’m reminded of a comment that my husband’s cousin put on one of my runs on Strava before my marathon which simply said - “Enjoy the gift of running.” As I struggled through my first ever marathon, feeling close to giving up when running up a hill in Loch Ness - I remembered that phrase over and over again. Running is a gift and so is art making. Both of these are disciplines that require us to overcome ourselves and our fears. As I pound the pavement repeatedly, and as I weave and beat down my yarn with my sword over and over and over again, I realise that running and weaving are my teachers. New ideas form, life is released, I become something new and I slowly morph into a better and more resilient version of myself.
With Christmas approaching soon, why not gift someone (or treat yourself!) to a Backstrap Weaving Class with me at West Dean College? Saturday 18th of Jan, more info below (only a couple of spaces left):
I am also selling some backstrap loom kits, check them out:
Alexandra Lucas Weave
As always, thanks for reading!
Alex x