My Prayer Mat

I was in the kitchen at The Hermitage the other morning preparing lunch for a guest and myself and in that space I encountered a moment of recognition and connection. At a pause in the work I found myself moving to stand on the mat by the sink and with my back to the sink I look out the window and pray. This has become a regular practice for me. While I am waiting for water to boil or onions to saute my feet often end up on the cushioned mat and I pray.

My prayers are the prayers that come to me throughout my day. They are simple two-line breath prayers that I slowly repeat. 

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, 
have mercy on me a sinner.

O God, come to my assistance,
make haste to help me.

Give me ears to hear the heavenly voice
and courage to answer the call.

Open the door of my heart,
that I might receive you this day.

That specific morning the recognition dawned on me – “Oh, this is my prayer mat.” 

I know that the use of a prayer mat is common in many traditions but I had given little thought to their use, or that I might be using one. With this recognition I now have an inkling of the experience of the prayer mat as a site of devotion and meeting with God. It demarcates a space that is a private temple where we go to talk with God. As a place where we put our feet it speaks to me being grounded and still. As someone who is nurtured by Benedictine spirituality my prayer mat in the kitchen speaks to me of the connection of work and prayer.

After our meal was complete, I stood on the same mat, this time turned around to face the dirty dishes and like Brother Lawrence I continued my ongoing little conversations with God.

One year of #Quietvideo

One year ago, on July 18, 2019, I shot and shared this 30 second video.

I had posted a couple 30 second videos earlier that month, but this is the one I remember as being something different. It is just a tree among trees, and grass. In the act of simply standing still and filming a tree for 30 seconds something opened up in me. Something was going on here that I needed to pay attention to and explore.

With this July 18 video of a tree I began posting on my YouTube channel and in the description added “A #quietvideo invitation to simply pause for 30 seconds and gaze at a tree. This is the first in a series exploring video making/watching as a contemplative tool.”

“First in a series!” The series and the exploring continues. It has become a vital spiritual exploration.

This video making is a spiritual practice where I am doing much more practicing and learning than accomplishing. This is probably appropriate, but it is sometimes discouraging. As with any spiritual practice, sometimes it is a rich and invigorating practice, and sometimes is feels like nothing is happening, and sometimes it feels like what is happening is I’m making meaningless drivel.

I remain very much the beginner.

Video making continues to be a practice that invites me to open up and be aware – to see what there is to be seen, and hear what there is to be heard, and to ponder my relationship with all that I see and hear.

I hope to explore new territory with this practice in the coming year, but I don’t know what that territory will be.  I just need to watch, listen, and wait for it to come. (Oh, and keep my batteries charged.)

I like a flat line

I was watching the amazing film “24 frames” by Abbas Kiarostami. It is a fascinating and beautiful piece of work. The film consists of 1 painting by Peter Bruegel and 23 of Kiarostami’s photographs each of which he then digitally “animates” creating a series of 4-5 minutes scenes. Maintaining the perspective of the original photograph each frame appears as a static shot with no camera movement. I found myself deeply drawn into these scenes and quickly realized it was not just the slowness and stillness of the scenes that was appealing to me, but noticed that many of the scenes featured a strong horizontal line - often the horizon, but not always. I found this calming. In fact as I was watching I thought to myself “I love a flat line.”

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This is not a surprise, but it is a good reminder. I grew up on the prairies where the geography is nothing but a flat line. This flat line speaks to me of spaciousness and openness. I currently live in a moderately hilly and wooded area and flat lines at times seem absent. But I realize that part of my sense of an absence is a matter of perspective. On the prairies finding the flat line is a matter of looking off into the distance. It is a big view experience. Here, I must change my perspective and look closer to find those flat lines; those artificial horizons. But with this reminder of the importance of the flat line to my spirit I will work to open my eyes to the flat lines about me.

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The Trouble with Intentions

I have troubles with intentions – mine, and others. In my biblical studies days I was quite bitten by the post-modern bug and would argue that with texts we don’t have author’s intentions, we merely have words on the page. If intentions mattered anywhere, it was more with the reader than the writer.

Today, I don’t necessarily disagree with that opinion, but I also don’t clutch onto it as some kind of dogma.

When I look at and think about the photographs and videos I’ve been creating lately, especially the videos, I will admit I’m pretty baffled about my own intentions. I often don’t really understand why I film what I do. It may very well be evidence that I’m just thoughtlessly amused by the novelty of making videos and will point the camera at whatever catches my eye. I described my approach to someone the other day as intuitive, impulsive, and impatient. I think there is some truth to that, but I also think I like saying that because it uses alliteration and they all seem shockingly uncharacteristic of me – like I’m some kind of free-wheeling artist.

As much as I’ve enjoyed not thinking about my intentions, I don’t know that this approach is really helping me – or anyone who spends time watching anything I create.

So, I will try to explore my intentions with the most recent video I posted on YouTube – “The Cabin”. Here is what I know about my intentions:

  • I had gone out walking looking for things to film or photograph.

  • I decided to do a shot of the cabin, because a cabin in the woods seems like potent image. People like the idea of a cabin in the woods.

  • The light was nice and the birds were singing, so this seemed like a good time.

  • I had been talking with someone about how I like long shots, so I thought I should film for 2.5 minutes.

  • I shot what was the 2nd scene in the video first.

  • At some point, I decided to shoot three vantage points of the cabin, each for 2.5 minutes. This idea was inspired by, or mimicing the work of James Benning. James Benning has done several films using the structure of a series of single shots of uniform length. I don’t know why that structure appeals to me. Benning also has a relationship with cabins as he has built replicas of the cabins of Thoreau and the Unabomber on his property.

  • I was intrigued by the relationship of the trees – particularly 2 trees in front – with the cabin.

  • When assembling the video, I liked the progression from further away to closer.

  • All the audio was what was captured when filming.

And here’s the thing, I enjoy the final product, although I completely understand why others might find it baffling and stop watching after a minute. Perhaps investigating why I enjoy it might reveal why I made it.

I like the idea of long shots with little movement because I think that is the stance I would like to have with life. Slowly gazing. Slowly receiving. Not rushing. This is certainly more aspirational than actual. Even if on the surface what is being gazed at and or received doesn’t seem to have any significance, spending some slow, quiet time with it opens the possibility for significance to emerge. I’m attracted to the idea of living my life in long, slow, simple scenes.

I like the structure of three 2.5 minutes segments because even though it is very slow rhythm, it is a rhythm. Rhythm and repetition are the foundations of style and the patterns that hold together a sensible life.

At first I was going to dismiss the cabin as an inconsequential convenience, something to point my camera at, but the does evoke a solitude which is important to me. This solitude fits well with long, quiet, uneventful scenes.

So I guess underneath it all, I had some intentions, and expressed them. I will, however, be delighted somebody watches it and has a completely different experience.

Uncertainty and Praise - Filming the Dawn Chorus

Early on May 3 I filmed a couple hours of pre-dawn light to be submitted to the Dawn Chorus film project. I’m including a clip and my “Artist Statement.” (I’ve never written an artist statement before and am not really sure what goes into them, so I just wrote what I wrote.)

I am a rank amateur. That’s not self-deprecation. It is just what is. I can point out many things I’m disappointed about with the video/audio I captured/created that morning. But, I did it, and that’s better than not doing it. Whether any of it finds it’s way into the final project is not my worry.

Uncertainty and praise

Driving to my shooting location I witnessed an enormous red moon setting in the west. There wasn’t enough time for me to stop, get out my camera, and capture a few pics, and not everything beautiful needs to be frozen in my camera. After an earlier forecast of heavy cloud-cover I was welcomed to a view of more stars than I’d seen for decades.

I made my way in the dark to a location I had identified, however, in this deep darkness I couldn’t be certain I was in the right spot, and when I set up my camera, I couldn’t be certain I was pointing it exactly where I wanted. And as the light grew, I was uncertain I was properly managing the camera settings. These were just a few more minor pieces of uncertainty that characterize our days.

I am fortunate to work at The Hermitage, a retreat center in rural southern Michigan with the nearest town about 8 miles away. My shooting location was from a rise in the land at GilChrist, our neighboring retreat center overlooking Hermitage land. I was aware as I was standing and marveling at the visual and audio beauty of the early morning hours, monks at the Benedictine Abbey down the road were gathering to pray Matins and Lauds – two services of morning prayer. It was a gift to bear witness to the frogs, ducks, trees, and stars joining the dawn chorus of monks in their songs of praise.

Uncertainty and praise; these were my experiences of filming the dawn, and have been my experiences during this pandemic. Uncertainty about safety, income, leadership, yet praise at the inevitable signs of life and beauty that spring brings.

Kevin Driedger
Three Rivers, Michigan
May 3, 2020