Touching is Feeling, Feeling is Believing
I’m having a tactile renaissance.
The past couple years, I’ve surrendered to the realms of electronic creation, putting my faith in the connections made by an unseen digital hand. It’s freeing, to utilize a tool for much of the heavy lifting. It’s everywhere—it’s me, typing on this computer, shuttling my thoughts onto a nonexistent page. The whole thing is funny when you think about it: projecting thousands of ideas into a void of transient mirrors, our drops of data joining the endless frothy waters of personal content. We expect our eyes to be insatiable. There’s so much to see, so much to see, so much to see.
I’m told there are four other senses.
Maybe a member of the audience could fill me in?
To Smell, To Touch, To Taste, To Listen
I used to be very physical. Every aspect of my existence stemmed from my hands. I made rugs by tearing up old sheets, button-downs, pillowcases. I embroidered sweatshirts with tiny rocket ships and clouds. I pieced together installations, covering an entire room with slices of parchment paper, each one connected to the next with a small straight pin. On and on.
I made a living by carrying plates of food from a yellow tiled kitchen to a stranger at a table. I stirred a pot of sugar, kneaded candy until it was hard, tuck it into boxes and sealed up packages for safe travel.
My sense of leisure followed suit, coming to me in the form of baking: cakes, cookies, cobblers. Every activity was hands on.
A few years ago, my hands rebelled. The blood in my veins was replaced by fire, coursing through my forearms and aching into my palms. Every joint was rusty, they creaked and I winced at the sensation. I couldn’t deliver a dish without my wrists feeling twisted by pain. A friend told me about an acupuncture place in Van Nuys, where you donate what you can and everyone gets treatment in the same room. Bodies relaxed into reclining chairs. It was amazing, acupuncture is transformative. But there was a message being sent. I’d swung too far into the realm of the concrete notions, moved too fast and lost the lofty visions. Could I trust myself to slow down enough to hear the inward shuffles and whispers?
I tilted my head back into the digital pool, utilizing modernity to spin threads from the blips in my mind. Waves of blue light carried me, I followed the tides and found my own words. The process has yielded an entirely new way of approaching myself. And yet, I can’t deny my hands their pleasure. My body will not be satisfied strictly by data farms and server clouds.
So here I am with a declaration: I’m seeking the tactile world again. I long to grow something between my palms.
A few ways I’m embracing touch:
Removing the desk from my office - I had to pull everything out of my workspace for a handyman, when I saw the clear floor I couldn’t bring myself to reintroduce the desk. I fashioned a large cushion we stored in the garage and sleeping pads from our camping trip into something of a daybed. Reorienting my body within a space and accepting my cozy nature has jostled new ideas to the mind’s surface. Rather than positioning myself as a brain at a desk, I’m a whole person, held by a body. Everything flows in tandem.
Exercise 2-3 times a week - I prefer a working out in a group setting. There I said it! I used to avoid sweating in public at all costs. I wore sweaters in P.E. to cover my chubby arms. Actually I wore sweaters all day every day until I was well into high school. To this day, the skin on my arms is so sensitive, it hurts when I run my fingers on the underside of my forearms. Now I get grumpy if I don’t reach my weekly class quota. Exercising with others requires more focus on the self. And going to a studio opens up a world of work out tools. I love to hoist a little dumbbell above my head, maneuver the carriage of a pilates reformer, tune into the sensation of the mat beneath my head, shoulders, torso…etc etc.
Playing with yarn - I learned to crochet early on, taught by my crochet prodigy of a mother. Anyone can learn, it’s all about getting comfortable with the crochet hook as an extension of yourself. In the best of crochet flows, the yarn moves on its own. Your fingertips lead the way, moving with precision to form a series of similar shapes, to then build upon and on and on. I made a crochet bag for myself in May, spurred on by the need to have a little cute thing to carry around Rome. This week I just launched Moss Bag, an improved iteration of that same bag. The yarn is thick and bouncy, which asks the crocheter (me) to adjust their hands and open the movements to create larger spaces. Making these bags feels like both a return point on a creative cycle and a departure from the cycle of goinggoinggoing without an intention or even the slightest direction toward a bigger vision.
Holding books - Bro I’m sorry to the kindle lovers, but holding a book is pure tactile joy! The eyes will thank you. What is more satisfying than folding the corner of a page to mark your passage through a book? What about opening a book on the plane? Okay you’re suddenly in a rom com. Propping book on pillow in your bed? Also rom com, also mystery thriller, also Euro drama. Why would we ever retire such a versatile prop in this play called life?
Seeking out grass - we’ve all heard the phrase, touch grass, a quippy reminder to get off the phone and check into the real world. But there is more to the story. We don’t all have green soft grass just an inch beyond our fingertips. But! We can enjoy the journey. If you reach a public space of grassy proportions, you will likely see other physical beings. Inhaling gulps of fresh oxygen, running their hands through soft green tufts. What better way to remember humanity’s inherent pleasures.
Cleaning my closet - This might just be me subtweeting myself so I’ll actually finish my clothing purge, but you can’t do it all in one day. Really taking time to part with clothing is like saying goodbye on the last day of school. You’ve shared memories, but your time together is over. I try on everything I’m giving away, even when I know it doesn’t fit. You jump through a series of past lives, see what you can take and what is best left behind. A clear space forms between now and then, all felt through denim, ribbed stretchy cotton, random graphic tees, unyielding nylon pants. It’s a whole body tactile experience.
However it comes, may we find our way back to touch.
xx
James