Oriah Mountain Dreamer (excerpt from “The Invitation”)
…I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
For love, for your dream,
For the adventure of being alive.
If you look around you right now (even if you’re on woodsy trail!), you will find both functional and aesthetic representations of some human’s vision. Airplanes, roads, state houses, cartoons, wine bottles, maps – all manmade inventions are inevitably a product of the natural force pouring out of us: imagination.
When we think of “art”, many of us imagine the Sistine Chapel with its biblical frescos or the Mona Lisa hanging solemnly in a high-security museum. We may think of art as an expensive object that sits on a table or lives behind glass. We may think of its creation as reserved for the trained eye or the lonely romantic. In short, art can feel inaccessible and exclusive.
I’ve heard many a friend remark “oh, I’m not an artist, I can’t paint a human body to save my life!”. Then, in chemistry class, I catch them drawing peculiar aliens or zig-zagged hats.
A doodle is defined as an absent-minded scribble. Even though it usually has a frivolous connotation, the absence of the mind may be exactly when the walls of self-consciousness come down. It’s not so frivolous at all! Given how ubiquitous doodling is, it is important to consider that it can be a window into someone’s inner world. If doodling is born from a mind right on the edge of daydream, meditation, and awareness, there is a vulnerability in creating and even sharing the fabric of one’s inner wonderings.
To call some attention to the improvisation in processing our daily lives, this post will explore the experience of doodling. We meet Sam Bavelock, who regularly experiments with visual art. Sam bridges two (often overlapping) worlds: that of the “artist” who shares with the public and that of the human who creates purely for the sake of expression, processing, and fun. Over the past decade, Sam has created pieces using all kinds of mediums – some for commission, some for gifts, some purely for herself, some without a destination in mind. She has graciously shared some of her doodles with us for this post!
Sam
I barely ever put pen to paper with a plan. A plan is exactly what I try to avoid!
Sam started doodling in high school. When she found herself weighed down by expectations or longing to be outside during class, she would open up her notebook and let her imagination run. The margins “were a secret asylum for doodles”, a portal into one of the only spaces she felt she could “expand into without consequence”. In short, doodling was a refuge.
Today, when asked if she shares the contents of her sketchbooks, Sam quickly says “no”. Swiftly, she adds, “I’ll show a doodle once in a while or I’ll be drawing in public. But rarely do I intentionally present it to an audience”. The privacy of the sketchbook struck me as akin to a journal. It made me realize that doodles are similar to words, and just as powerful. Sam’s sketchbook contains what she describes as “lots of processing and dreams” – illustrations of difficult conversations she has experienced, visual representations of fears and desires. Where do the visuals come from? From where are our doodles born?
There are all kinds of handwriting experts and psychologists who claim they can decipher your personality through analyzing doodles. Online, I found some interesting (but probably reductive) interpretations of swirls, triangles, faces, buildings. But basically, the nature of doodling is an exploration of your personal imagination. That is why it can be such an intimate experience to catch a glimpse of someone’s doodle.
Sam reflects on the experience seeing two of her favorite artists’ sketchbooks on display in New York’s Brooklyn Museum and the Guggenheim:
“To see the sketches and doodles of well-known artists is provocatively imposing. When I went to see Frida Kahlo and Hilma af Klint’s sketchbooks, it was amazing how different the two were. Hilma’s were methodical, very geometric. Her drawings were plans, documented processes for her large scale paintings. Frida’s were more loose and didn’t feel like plans for other pieces. They were pieces by themselves.”
She also recounts a story that gave her a possible peek into the subconscious of a stranger:
“One time when I was sitting in a cafe, there was someone drawing an image of a girl. The image had the word “hello”. When I complimented her, she seemed very open to engage. The consistency of her inviting demeanor on the page and in our interaction was noticeable. It’s interesting to see what imagery comes up for people in relationship to how they are feeling.”
Doodling is not just a way to heal, improvise, or keep your hands busy in a meeting. It can also be a way to communicate and share the experience of a feeling. I have a vivid memory of the first doodle Sam gifted to me. On New Years Day (2018), Sam invited me to leaf through some old notebooks in her room. A little circular cut-out fell out (pictured above). For some reason, I was immediately in love with this head-planet. To our soft, hushed pondering “how do we keep from feeling alone?”, the calm saturn-face provides a resolution without a word. This cut-out now hangs above my desk. When I’m feeling gloomy, lonely, meditative, or just spacing out and staring at my wall, I remember the feeling of the gift and the moment Sam said “keep it”. Knowing that this creation sprouted from the spirit of my dear friend, that it resonated so deeply with me, and that she trusted me enough to hold onto it, I feel a surge of closeness and love every time it catches my gaze.
Frida Kahlo
Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you.
As someone who practices “art” regularly, Sam encounters different phases of her creative process. Though she admits that developing technical skills can be an important component for understanding the limits of creation, she is a strong proponent for improvisation and experimentation. Coming to the page with no agenda is liberating! But that approach can be pretty hard to do for all of us, even those of us who consider ourselves artistically inclined.
There always seems to be judgment, a voice in our heads that says “this isn’t good enough” or “why bother trying” or “naked mermaid sketches are inappropriate for work meetings”. We all have loved ones who hide their doodles in fear of being judged, or for worries of not being a “real artist”. Making doodles and sharing them is a really vulnerable experience that we often overlook or shy away from. Within that thread, Sam notes one of the reasons that she shares her doodles from time to time:
“When I do share my doodles, there’s a hope that seeing my weird, crazy, nonsensical drawings may inspire someone to realize that making art doesn’t mean they have to know how to draw perfectly. They can just goof around and have fun with it.”
We can all tap in to our natural imaginative forces. Many of us doodle, or love someone who does. This art is free, uninhibited, and abundantly available to create, appreciate, and enjoy!
A huge thank you to Sam for letting me interrogate her about her artistic process & for being open to sharing her private doodles with us. If you are interested in checking out any of her other creations, visit her Instagram at @r.e.m_ember.
Thank you as well to the lovely, brave humans who donated their doodles (below) for this post! Please join in celebrating them! Thank you for reading!
Doodles by Maria Terentieva:
Doodles by Travis Yee:
Doodles by Sarah Estrella:
Doodles by Hailey Magee:
Doodles by Alex Belkin:
Doodles by yours truly ❤
…. and some more free-form by Sam Bavelock:
A Window In 