Amy Williamson

Brave, adjective, 1. to meet or face courageously

As a kid I was always artistic. Writing, painting, drawing, collaging, making potholders and pinhole cameras, sewing with my grandmother. I would try anything and everything. In highschool I took every art class available to me and prepared my portfolio for art school. And then suddenly I quit. Cold turkey. Not good enough. Not what I needed anymore. Not a valid career. Not fiscally responsible. Not. Not. Not.

The real truth was, I was scared. Yes, I didn’t think I was good enough but who does? It was deeper than that. I was scared of the feelings art brought up. I was scared of how emotional and raw and wide open art made me feel. I was afraid to face my demons and I knew that art might make me do that. Art would be my scarlet letter, and no one would like me anymore, maybe I wouldn’t even like me anymore. I’d be shunned, scorned, ashamed--a modern-day Hester Prynne.

Fast forward fifteen years and I’m a stay-at-home mom to two young boys and a part-time freelance editor. I am suddenly inspired to start collecting art supplies. I didn’t use them, I just bought them and put them in a cabinet and peeked at them every once in a while. Then I had four miscarriages. I couldn’t breathe. I could barely look in the mirror. I began to search for help online. I found a blogger who wrote about infertility (different from my secondary infertility, but it was a start; someone out there was actually talking about what it felt like to lose a baby this way). And it was also about art. A few months later there was a badge on the side of the blog announcing Squam Art Workshops in New Hampshire, only 7 hours away from New Jersey. I signed up that day. I was ready to be brave.

I could tell you about the next few months of anticipation and dread. I could tell you how I almost chickened out a thousand times. I could tell you about picking up a perfect stranger who was also inspired to show up that first year; how funny it was when she said, “How did you know it was safe to allow me in your car? What if I had a machete in my bag?” How it wouldn’t have mattered. I had one goal and that was to get to New Hampshire and figure out how to start creating again. I was desperate to get my long-repressed feelings out. I knew art was the key.

I will tell you about a cabin of women who were my friends from the moment I walked in the door. I will tell you about the welcoming face of Elizabeth, who started it all and how that welcome let me know I would be okay. I will tell you about the bonfire and a voice like an angel in the dark singing to me. I will tell you about the comforting food in the dining hall filled with remarkable women (and a few men). I will tell you about the moment in that initial class with Misty Mawn when I picked up a paintbrush for the first time in so many years and felt a rush of relief so overwhelming that I cried.

There is too much to share about the space between then and now. So I will skip ahead to this year and to the words spoken during the opening dinner about Alice Mabel Bacon and Mary Alice Ford. There is a book which chronicles the story of these two women who founded Rockywold-Deephaven camps where SAW takes place every June and September. I was stilled by their story. The dedication they had to this spot, yes. But also their dedication to serving others, which they believed was essential to living our best life. I was impressed with their vision, their tireless work against prejudice, their belief in tradition and creativity. Their celebration of nature and their understanding that Squam Lake and the Rockywold-Deephaven Camp was a place where families and friends would come year after year to relax, reflect, reconnect, and rejoice. A place where nature would provide spiritual grounding. A place that would be near and dear to so many hearts for decades to come.

One line in the book jumped out at me, a way the camps have often been described, like champagne in a tin cup. A place so simple yet filled with the finest bubbles--beautiful scenery, cool mountain air, a clear lake, loon song, coyote howl, warm fires, good healthy food, sturdy docks, a generous and attentive staff, solid cabin walls, stepping stone paths built by many hands a century ago. Spaces to create, to laugh, to cry, to commune, to sit in silence, to meditate, to find yourself broken open. Spaces to put yourself back together again. A place of belonging and inspiration. Frank Perkins, the camp manager during the 1980s, greeted the guests with the words “welcome to your spirit’s home.” Oh, yes, Frank, you could not have been more right.

I finished reading the book and then dug through a box to find a copy of an email I had written to Elizabeth after returning home that first year. I had explained to her that coming to SAW was not simply about the art classes, but also a stretching and pushing myself in a direction I had never gone before. Deep down I knew I would discover something about myself if I could only be brave enough to journey alone to that beautiful spot. So many people have been transformed there during the last four years. I have read beautiful blog posts and emails and letters retelling stories of shifts and changes in many lives, some small and some tsunamis of epic proportions. My own life has gone through a metamorphosis. Sometimes so painful, difficult, and emotional I would think I couldn’t take another step. But I would keep the memories of each of my SAW experiences in the forefront of my mind, remembering the way I had felt seen, heard, and accepted; felt the connectedness with nature and my fellow humans that Alice Mabel Bacon and Mary Alice Ford were intent on creating when they birthed the idea for the camp at the turn of the century--intrinsically knowing this was how I wanted to feel all the time, in every aspect of my life.

I teach art classes locally now. I call it BraveGirlsArt--art and self empowerment for young girls. I have a space where they can create and try new things and make a mess and hula hoop and sing and dance and talk openly and be brave. And I hope they will never turn their backs on art the way I did. I hope to teach them that art enriches their world and that living wide open and embracing life fully is the only way to live. This September I travelled to SAW with friends I have made since that first year. When we arrived at our cabin by the lake I felt it again, surrounded by women who get me I was reminded of something I know in my heart: life is simple--take risks, love deeply, create beauty, serve others, respect nature, be brave. I believe there are two women, Mary Alice Ford and Alice Mabel Bacon, gone from this earth for many years now, who would be so proud to know Squam Art Workshops has taken up residence in their beloved camp. A place where we let out our hearts. And let go.

I think from now on I'll be drinking my champagne from a tin cup.