Quiet Wildness

In the last two years, and especially this past one, I found myself cultivating and embracing quiet wildness. 

Since I was a child, being and feeling wild has always been something I seek. By wild I mean: free, brave, untamed, connected with nature, and fully embodied in myself and my surroundings. It’s a big part of what drew me to move to northern Minnesota, where wildness is easily accessible right outside my door.

Yet “wild” means different things to different people, and living where I do in northern Minnesota on the edge of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, I have felt the need to pursue “cool” kind of wild by doing specific outdoors things. There can be almost competitive culture (whether real or internally perceived) to be the most hardcore outdoorsperson: to travel the furthest into the wilderness, to hike the hardest hike the fastest, to be game for things like winter camping in sub-zero temperatures. 

I want to be cool and hardcore and badass just like everyone else, and on top of that, I’m competitive, so in my first years here, I found myself downplaying the things I did that make me feel wild if they didn’t look like what other folks were accomplishing. 

But I want to challenge and reframe this attitude in myself and offer another option for anyone who feels the same. As someone with an invisible, painful chronic illness, my reality is that a lot of the more intense outdoor experiences are not always accessible or fun for me. Not everyone has a body that works well enough to allow them to backpack an entire hiking trail or paddle for days on end into the Boundary Waters.

As someone with rheumatoid arthritis, I really resist admitting this because I long to be able to do those things, but it is also my reality. Most of those activities cause me pain, even if my disease is managed well, because overstressing my system results in flare ups. I still sometimes do those things and feel empowered while doing them, but physically I pay in some way, so the empowerment comes at a long-term price. 

The most “hardcore” wild thing I did in 2022: a few days canoeing and camping in the BWCA with friends.

So these days, I seek quiet wildness. 

I feel quietly wild when I rollerblade, listening to music with my hair streaming out behind me. I feel wild when I swing on the rope swing at my family cabin. I feel wild when I walk slow around the yard with Aurora, and kneel down as he hunts in the grass, trying to see what he sees. I feel wild when I squat heavy, when I swim in any lake but especially Lake Superior, when I pause on my walk and lean my cheek against the rough bark of a tree trunk. When, after a long day indoors working, I step out after dark and look up at the sky full of stars.

Aurora Borealis the cat, my greatest teacher in wildness.

This quiet wildness can be accessed anywhere, not just in the northwoods. I remember quietly wild moments when I lived in the city, too: walking to the Cathedral on the dark St. Paul streets with headphones in, something every woman knows not to do. Wandering to the park near my apartment at dusk, looking up, and finding the oak trees teeming with bats. Something as simple as looking down and finding a feather.

I want my weavings to embody quiet wildness.

Fiber itself is wild: unruly, textured, nuanced. No matter how hard I try to weave perfect shapes and edges and circles, the fibers always rebel a little bit, making every single piece unique and wild in its own way. My designs most often reflect the places I feel most quietly wild: near bodies of water, under boreal trees, beneath a full moon or sky of aurora borealis.

“Calm” Tapestry Weaving, 2022.

I know my work is collected by folks who are drawn to wildness, too, and I want my weavings to bring them this quiet wildness. To bring it to you and your home in times when you’re longing to connect with your wild self. I want my weavings to remind you that you are wild and that whatever that looks like in your life–whether you’re hiking the entire Pacific Crest Trail or just walking slow to your mailbox, whether you’re paddling into the wilderness or just looking at a piece of art that reminds you of it–it is valid and true.

Does this resonate with you? What makes you feel the most wild?