How slow should you go?
If slow travel is a better way to see the world, how slow is slow enough? As slow as a train? As slow as a bike? As slow as walking? I’ve started to think that even walking is sometimes too fast.Do you, like me, sometimes get to the end of a walk in a beautiful place and realise that you’ve been so lost in your own thoughts, or deep in conversation, that you have taken in very little of what you have walked past?
I think the problem could be that, when you’re walking, even though you’re moving slowly, you are always moving. What happens when you stop?
I often see people fishing when I am out walking, and having listened recently to an episode of the Countrystride podcast featuring an angler from Derwent Water in the Lake District1, I understand that much of the joy of fishing is not in the catching of the fish, but in having a reason to sit still in a quiet place, surrounded by nature. From the stillness comes connection with everything around you - not just in a literal sense when a fish finds your line - but in becoming part of the scene, part of the life of the lake or river, quietly doing your thing while the plants and animals quietly, and occasionally noisily, do with theirs.
But I still feel no great urge to become an angler, so how else to find this stillness and connection? Alastair Humphreys (author and adventurer featuring in an upcoming podcast) advocates finding fifteen minutes to sit still on a tree trunk, every day ideally, pointing out that if you’re too busy to spend fifteen minutes sitting still in nature, you probably need to spend thirty minutes sitting still in nature. He also recommends climbing trees - something I love the idea of, but have never been brave enough to do on my own (I am not so much afraid of falling as being seen by a passer-by who then calls the police to report a man acting strangely and suspiciously!). Being with my kids provides an excuse to get up in a tree, but then it’s often difficult to find the peace and quiet!
Nigel Danson, a landscape photographer I follow on YouTube, consciously builds the eating of an apple into his photography routine. Before setting up his equipment in a location, before having a clear idea of the photograph he will take, he will stop to eat an apple, allowing time for the place to come to him.
I really enjoy photography - I guess in some ways it is my equivalent of fishing, in that it gives me something to do while pausing in a beautiful place, and helps me to see that place in a different way. It has also provided the motivation for me to start a walk before dawn, or stay out after sunset, in order to catch the light at its most beautiful. This is a subject for another blog.
But recently, I was inspired to try drawing.
Alain de Botton and John Ruskin: drawing to see
The idea came from Alain de Botton’s book The Art of Travel (which I strongly recommend to anyone who is wonders whether the way we often tend to ‘do’ travel is really the best way to experience our world), and specifically, the chapter on John Ruskin.
John Ruskin’s life overlapped almost exactly with Queen Victoria’s. He was initially an art critic, but later became a polymath: a visionary and writer on a range of subjects. He had strong views on social reform, argued for a fairer, less exploitative society and drew attention to the harmful side effects which he could see being caused by the industrial revolution. He saw the risks to the environment and even the climate from great changes that were happening - the explosion in energy and activity. He also saw how the increasing pace of life could inhibit us from really seeing and appreciating the wonder and beauty of nature and art.
He was a big advocate of slow travel, and of drawing as a way to really see, appreciate, and understand our world. In The Art of Travel, de Botton wrote: ‘Ruskin was distressed by how seldom people noticed details. He deplored the blindness and haste of modern tourists, especially those who prided themselves on covering Europe in a week by train (a service first offered by Thomas Cook in 1862)’2
Ruskin himself wrote ‘No changing of place at a hundred miles an hour will make us one whit stronger, happier or wiser. There was always more in the world than one could see, walked they ever so slowly; they will see it no better for going fast. The really precious things are thought and sight, not pace.’
Ruskin gave drawing lessons at the Working Men’s College in London, and his purpose was, in his own words, ‘not turn a carpenter into an artist, but to make him happier as a carpenter’. The purpose of his students’ drawing was not to create decorative art, but to enable his students to experience the world more richly.
From before I started school and into my mid teens, I used draw a lot. Dinosaurs were my first subject of choice, but before long I settled down to trains, boats and aeroplanes, and very little else. I rarely coloured my drawings in - that was boring. What I loved was transposing the shape and detail of an object onto a bit of paper. And as a result, I really got to know what I was drawing. It’s been a long time, but I’m fairly confident that if someone was to ask me now to draw a Spitfire, the Flying Scotsman or a Stegasaurusfrom memory, I could do a decent job of it, with reasonable accuracy in the detail.
I can easily get on board with the idea of drawing being a wonderful way to see, appreciate and connect with the world in a very simple, cheap and low-energy way. But, I am not qualified to give advice in how to go about it myself, other than saying ‘get some paper and a pencil and give it a go’. But fortunately, there were two people who were willing donate their knowledge and wisdom, so I can offer you much better than that.
The guests on episodes two and three of the podcast are Howard Hull, CEO of Brantwood, the historic house which was home to John Ruskin during the second half of his life, and Silvie Hibdon, the founder of the San Francisco Arts Biennale, a project to showcase how art can help us find awe in nature, and we take a deep dive into how slowing down - really slowing down - can enhance our experience of the world and enrich our lives.
And how did I get on when I tried to put their advice into practice? I have gone out to draw on a couple of occasions, and they were both very happy, peaceful times when, for a few minutes, nothing in the world mattered except my bit of paper and the beautiful place I was sitting or standing in. It’s galling that I have only managed it twice since I recorded those conversations last November. Life is so busy, but, writing that, I can hear Alastair Humphreys’ saying ‘mate, you need to spend two hours sitting on a tree trunk’, and I can remember Howard’s advice as he wished me luck with the project, that, whatever it is you’re working on, you might have more chance of success if you can spend a few minutes with a sketchpad and pencil, being still in nature.
