Although cars rumble past now and then on a road that skirts the far side of the meadow, they disrupt the stillness only briefly.
#The art of stillness summary windows
I do not switch them on, because the sun gives me all the light I need and a breeze through the windows keeps me cool. There is no telephone in this room, no television, no radio, no computer, no electrical device at all except for a light and a fan overhead. We’ll rendezvous this evening to celebrate our anniversary by sharing a meal with friends.Īlthough I must eventually return to house and work and a host of obligations, for a few hours, at least, nobody will disturb me. She drove me out here this morning to inaugurate this quiet space, dropped me off at the end of the gravel path with a kiss and a blessing, then went on about her errands. “Don’ t spoil your studio by feeling guilty,” says Ruth, who has come to know my guilt all too well since the day of our wedding. I realize what a privilege it is to have such a refuge, what a luxury to claim a second roof when so many people lack any shelter at all, and I do not know how long I can bear to keep it. We arranged for the building of this hut on some land we own at the edge of a state forest a few miles from our house in town, so that I would have a place to withdraw. And yet we both recognize my periodic need for solitude and stillness, a need that has grown more acute over the years. As of one o’clock this afternoon, Ruth and I will have been married thirty-three years, and in that time our lives have been braided together so tightly, so richly, that I cannot imagine myself apart from her. My wife knows I am here, but she is the only one, and she urged me to come. I draw in a deep breath, let it go, and try to shed a feeling of decadence for sitting here alone, idle, on a Sunday morning. I open the windows and sit cross-legged on the floor with my back against a wall and my face to the east, where the meadow brightens with morning.
![the art of stillness summary the art of stillness summary](https://www.theparisreview.org/il/275c492fd4/medium/221_Ali-Smith-WritersatWork-interview1.jpg)
I have come here in hopes of calming that buzz, the better to hear voices aside from my own. Overcoming my wariness, I go inside, carrying with me only a pen, a journal, the clothes on my back, and the buzz in my head. The walls seem watchful, for they, too, are covered with planks of yellow pine, and the knots burn like a constellation of eyes. The pine floor, still unmarked, is fragrant and shiny with varnish, like a bare stage the moment before a play begins. The two carpenters, friends of mine, who built this hut for me to use as a studio have removed the last of their tools and swept the place clean. I turn a key in the lock, swing the door inward, then hesitate on the threshold, gazing into this room where I hope to recover my balance. The pressure of sunlight draws the fruity smell of cedar from the clapboard siding. The boards feel warm against the soles of my feet.
![the art of stillness summary the art of stillness summary](https://growthabit.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/The-Obstacle-Is-The-Way-Ryan-Holiday-Book-Cover.png)
![the art of stillness summary the art of stillness summary](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71QBEgJ2lrS.jpg)
I climb the stairs and leave my sandals on the deck.
![the art of stillness summary the art of stillness summary](https://artnoiseevents.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/91954380_1342317849289315_8376877164414369792_o.jpg)
Here in southern Indiana the tall grasses have bent down under the weight of their seeds, the maples and sycamores have begun to release a few crisp leaves, and the creeks have sunk into their stony troughs. Grasshoppers lurch aside with a clatter as I move along the path, but hummingbirds and butterflies continue blithely feeding. Resting at the foot of a hill between a meadow and a forest, surrounded by a deck and railing, the tiny cabin seems to float on the earth like a gabled houseboat the color of whole wheat bread. THROUGH THE AISLE of waving woodland sunflowers and purple ironweed, I approach a cedar hut where I plan to sit quietly for a few hours, gathering the scattered pieces of myself.