Uprooted/ A Trip to Japan
In the winter of 2026, after two record-breaking snowstorms and having a major birthday- I won’t tell you which one– I looked around at my life, and in my studio,and I felt “clotted with rootedness”. I had seen this phrase in a memoir by Richard Mabey, one of England’s finest nature writers. Mabey’s book, Nature Cure, was about a severe depression that came over him in his sixties. He had lived on his family’s land in the Chiltern Hills all his life; his deep connection with place made him a fine writer, but he knew that to feel whole again, he had to uproot from there. I first read his words twenty years ago; they were the antithesis of what I felt then. For years I’d felt rootless. My family came as political refugees from Cuba in the 1960’s and I had accepted that I would always feel displaced. But when my husband and I began digging into our home in Rhode Island to finish a house, clear land, and create studios, working on the place changed me. I felt whole and “rooted”.
But in February of this year, Mabey’s phrase, “clotted with rootedness,” caught up with me and became my diagnosis. I was not in a deep depression, but my energy and joy were diminished. The work in the studio was grinding to a standstill. I loved trees; they’ve played a major part in my work, but I am not a tree. I needed to move, and to unclot. But how? My first step toward unclotting was uncluttering. I began a deep studio cleanse. In mid-summer, I had a studio sale of materials, small sculptures and prints. Lots of work came out of storage, was sold and went off to new homes. My next step was to travel; I knew it had to go to a place that was far from what I knew. Months earlier, I’d received an invitation to travel to Japan with three close friends. Michael had lived and worked in Japan as a young man, and he wanted to see it again. His wife, Kat, his sister, Diane, and I were also keen to see to see it. So in September we flew off.
There were many favorite days, but one of the most memorable days was a visit to the sculpture studio of Isamu Noguchi, the famous Japanese-American sculptor. Noguchi established this studio when he was in his sixties. It is located in Mure, a stone-carving village outside of Takamatsu, near the inland Seto Sea. He spent the last two decades of his life working there for 6 months a year. His studio in Mure is a shrine to stone, particularly Basalt, the very hard stone that is found in the mountains there. He carved the land and the stones there, it was all one to him. And though he was very happy and felt very Japanese when he was working in Mure, Noguchi also admitted to a chronic rootlessness.”I cannot stay in one place forever”, he said. He knew much of his energy and vision came from his hyphenated, East-West heritage. He embraced it. When the time came, he migrated to his studio in Long Island City, New York (his museum is now located nearby).
I’ve recently returned to my home and studio, feeling unclotted and committed to staying that way. I will continue to embrace the natural materials I find here, but take more cues from the birds that embrace this land and forest. They fly off, uproot, and migrate to other habitats as needed.
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