On walking

Stepping out refreshes the creative nervous system and takes us out of ourselves. Gone are the days when I had the freedom to wander far afield – but I do love a daily ramble.

As my latest demo is about making images outside, I thought I’d share a few thoughts about walking. Rambling in both senses of the word?!

For me and no doubt plenty of others, walking – whatever the weather – is a remedy, breaching the overwhelm of contemporary living. Not great big long walks, though I once did some epic journeys on foot or bicycle here in Wales… also in New Zealand and France. Nowadays I have commitments that keep me at home, so I make the most of a daily constitutional.

Small pockets

There’s no chance any time soon that I’ll get to go on the type of epic adventures found in well-known walking literature, mostly written by men all about their scrapes and derring-do. (I’m reading The Wild Places by Robert MacFarlane and marvel at how he escapes daily demands to go on his risk-taking hikes in Scotland or Ireland; fantastic writing, btw.)

For me, these days, it’s just about getting out, most often with my dogs, always with a camera of sorts. Sometimes with my sketchbook, charcoal and ink.

Those week-long rambling adventures are a luxury of child-free days, now eclipsed by being the grown-up in the room. I’m grateful to parenting for awakening latent creativity, but added responsibilities mean I’ve tamed my ambitions: realistically, I’ve got a while to go before I dedicate myself to a stimulating ramble over days or weeks.

Step count

Daily walking – usually about 8K to 10K steps – meanwhile helps me inhabit the present but also points me to the past. I see an expansive history beyond my narrow horizon, with thoughts of the thousands that have trod the paths here over the centuries. Just sight of some of the incredible trees here, that have stood for centuries, is enough to bolster morale.

My imagination is led to narratives that healthily dwarf my small domesticated life, even while it seems all-encompassing (as living with children can make you feel) and too detailed when viewed from the indoor perspective. 

This is how we accrue mental dust, letting ourselves linger among too familiar walls and domesticity. Even an art process that we cling to can weigh us down.

In contrast, by being rooted in the landscape and observing nature and seasonal change, however familiar and often visited, you feel constantly renewed and surprised.

Curiosity blooms and latent knowledge and past remembrances are nudged into contemplation. And you get to fill a sketchbook as testimony.