Some background: Taliesin West near Scottsdale, AZ is the "western" campus of the apprenticeship-turned-architecture-school Frank Lloyd Wright founded in order to shape a new generation of architects. The original Taliesin is in Spring Green, Wisconsin. The word Taliesin means: "shining brow."
1. Be prolific. On our official tour of Taliesin West we learned that Frank Lloyd Wright designed 1,141 architectural works in his lifetime (the majority of which were late in life). 511 of these were actually built. I mean think about that. 1,000+ designs. 511 buildings. Imagine how fewer Wright buildings would be in existence if he'd only created half as many designs. Or a third of that. Those numbers reiterated my desire to be the kind of person who makes a lot of things. I want to find a way to bring creativity into my daily routine. I'm a long way out from that (a lot of thinking, not enough doing), but hearing those numbers made me inspired to start again, to make more than I ever have.
2. Help people see your work the way you want it to be seen. Wright is notorious for being unwilling to compromise his designs for a client's personal preference. His ceilings are often comically low, partly because he was short, but also because he believed that houses should be "human sized" and that they shouldn't tower over the people living in them. In the guest-house we stayed in on campus, you could really only see out the windows unless you were sitting down. As such, all the chairs were perfectly aligned so that when you sat down you were at eye level with the landscape. While it's not a good idea to be so uncompromising that you alienate your audience, I think artists can take cues from Wright when it comes to nudging people in the right (ha!) direction. His designs force you to experience the architecture in the way he wants you to experience it. I couldn't help but wonder if there's a way to translate this into other mediums.
3. The kindness of strangers goes a long way. Everyone we met at Taliesin was gracious and kind. Even though it's a close-knit community of students, teachers, and staff, we never felt like we weren't welcome, and everyone was happy to answer our questions and ask some of their own. That kind of openness seems like it's getting rarer and rarer, and it was a nice surprise to be surrounded by it, even just for a weekend.
4. There's nothing desolate about the desert. I'd forgotten how full of life the desert is. We chose the perfect time to go because the aloe and the bougainvillea were in full, astonishing bloom. It seemed like everywhere we turned there were flickers darting between the trees, flocks of quail skittering about, and flashes of hummingbirds among the flowers. One night we even heard the eerie sound of coyotes yipping in the distance.
5. Sometimes the greatest luxury is to do nothing in a beautiful place. Despite Ruth's best efforts to keep us busy, we spent a large chunk of the weekend doing nothing, and it was glorious. I sat in what little shade I could find and did watercolors or read. We went on walks, visited the gift shop and the cafe, and just generally watched the light change. The whole time I kept having to pinch myself that it was real, that the sunset and the mountains and the strange spiky plants weren't some sort of dream. What a luxury to just be in that place. What a luxury to be able to truly enjoy it.
6. Compress and release. Another thing we learned about on our tour was the concept of compress and release. Often we'd enter a building through a dark hallway, or some tight, cramped space, before it opened up into a long, light-filled room, usually with a view that stretched on for miles. I'm not really sure what the takeaway here is, except that I've been thinking about and noticing this concept ever since. Maybe it's that you appreciate things more right after they've been taken away from you.
7. Life-long friendships are rarer than you think. Every time Ruth introduced me as "my friend Laura, who I've known since the second grade," the most frequent response we'd get was "Wow. That's amazing!" It's far too easy to take really good friends for granted. They've always been in your life, so there's no reason to think they won't continue to be. I've been lucky enough to have several friends like this, so it often doesn't occur to me that not everyone has kept the friends they made in elementary school. Their reaction reminded me to cherish the friendships I have and not to grow complacent about them.
Side note: It's amazing to me how Ruth and I can fall right back into normal routines, even in a completely different setting. One of my favorite things we did that weekend was hang out at a bubble tea place in Phoenix and chat about our creative projects. It's something we do all the time when we're in the same city, and it's nice to know that some things never change.
8. Never underestimate the importance of a good hat (and sunglasses). Both the hat and sunglasses I took on this trip were last minute decisions. I almost couldn't find my sunglasses before leaving, but I discovered them on the kitchen table literally moments before walking out the door. The sun hat had been sitting unused in the car for the past month, and I made my dad grab it as we were loading our stuff into the shuttle that would take us to the airport. Both were completely invaluable and made being in the hot, bright desert WAY more pleasant.
9. Environment matters. One of the most amazing things about Taliesin West was that most of the architecture students live in structures called desert shelters. The shelters are built by previous students and current students can choose to design or modify a shelter for their final project. Most of them are completely open-air with a platform for a bed and place to build a fire on cold nights. What's amazing though, is how different each one is, and how they are tailored to the environment. Each one takes into consideration the heat of the day and the cold of the night, the way the breeze flows through the space, elevation from the ground, and how a person might spend their days in this tiny piece of the desert. While it takes a special kind of person to want to spend an entire semester in a desert shelter, I love the idea of being so connected with the environment around you, and of building structures that allow for that connection. These structures are built for the uniqueness of the desert, rather than in spite of it. I feel like there's all sorts of metaphors here for creativity that I haven't quite figured out yet. Something about tailoring your creative practice to your environment rather than trying to muscle through all the time. Or maybe just about paying attention to your surroundings and bending to them, rather than expending so much energy trying to shut them out.
**This blog post would not have been possible without Ruth: For being an awesome human being, and a wonderful host! **
