Walking to Re-Emerge
Annabel Pettigrew
September 2021
This passage reflects on a period of time when I looked to walking as a way to help re-emerge following a period of life-changing deep grief. The simplicity and the space that walking offered me was fundamental in helping me to feel able again, and this in turn helped to transform my practice into one I could engage with, after feeling estranged from previous working methodology.
***
One foot in front of the other. Left before right, before left again.
I started walking because after a year of white noise it was the only thing I could muster enough strength to do.
It had felt impossible at first. Being unstable. Wobbly, as if my brain was not connected to my feet. I would pause to align myself against the crushing sensation of time standing still. People walked past, quick and able, with purpose and intention. Inside I raged; ‘How dare they carry on’, my grief seemingly invisible to them. Some would glance back at me with looks of disapproval as I lent on a bollard or against the nearest wall. They were rarely concerned. Exhausted, on the brink of collapse I could barely make it back to the car.
Getting stronger, I walk for hours through woodland, deep in meditation, feeling all weather. Walking along coastal paths and near clifftops, nothing matters in the elements. Will the sea take me? Will the wind take my breath? Will it whisk through me, turning me into a million tiny particles, leaving no trace? Out here I am alone. None of the worries I ever had before matter anymore. Everything is in perspective, although I am numb and occasionally shaky. I’m heavier and have less sparkle than before. Made thicker through shock, my new fleshy white rolls have been nourished by my sadness. My eyes flood easily with tears, and my intensity is too much for many to bear. I can sense it immediately as they stiffen at the prospect of having to engage with my true emotional state. When friends come to visit, walking is a welcome distraction; a priority activity where conversation can be secondary. If the weather is volatile, it will dampen my senses or dilute the words. ‘She’s doing alright. We went for a walk, but it was too windy to talk properly.’ Is what they’ll say when they get home.
Choosing an area to explore through walking, to become familiar with, resonates differently when you’re going through a period of re-emergence. Smells, sounds, textures and light become associated with feelings, embodying the process with a type of personal mythology. Using the seasons as a gage, measuring the spectrum of grief associated sensations and thought processes against the turning of The Wheel of The Year becomes a barometer for strength and achievement.
Having spent time away from my practice, PaP became a therapeutic way to re-engage. A new headspace to occupy, made approachable through the medium of walking. A crit on foot, a studio-visit away from work, a conversation prompted by common themes. A walking, talking, sharing of ideas and approaches to making. A time to feel unencumbered by any subconscious restrictions related to our work. We talk about moss, mushrooms, pushing our fingers through decomposing leaf matter, forest-bathing, gut bacteria, the concept of hygge and non-hygge, foraging and collecting leaves and woodland found trophies, thanking the forest sprites for anything we might take away. Afterwards, we share coffee and tear dairy-free buns like we’re breaking bread for a feast. A little community with sense of purpose, and the feeling of having done yourself some good when you leave. I’ve made incense from the previously collected flora and fauna, having dried it out and then pulverised it at home, and tried to make dye from moss, which was far less successful.
As autumn gathers pace, we convene as a group and start to walk again. This year I’m looking for the sounds of leaves, edible mushrooms, mist, inedible yet magical looking toadstools, pigs in pannage, and red moss.
