If You Build it
I’m writing this as I fly over Montana on my way to Cleveland, Ohio, where I am collaborating with my friend Aimee Lee on a workshop that we’ve been talking about since I started creating events. In this workshop, we will use writing, sharing, and working with hanji (한지)—Korean handmade paper—to process grief. Starting with writing prompts, we’ll transfer our words to pieces of hanji, which will then be transformed into a soft cloth-like fabric using the traditional method of joomchi (줌치).
This post is going to be about how I decided to create and collaborate on grief events, but first I want to share my experience with joomchi. I am fortunate to have had the opportunity to visit South Korea when Aimee was there on her first Fulbright, learning about hanji from the most respected practitioners in Korea. Aimee continued to go to her lessons while I was there, and dragged me along (I went happily) to meet her teachers (선생님들). I was welcomed into their homes and studios, always with tea and snacks–Aimee had to politely explain that I can’t eat watermelon, which is a common food to share with guests (and for guests to take to the hosts), and that I don’t eat meat.
I am tempted to go on and on about some of the food, but I’ll keep on track here. At her hanji teacher’s papermill, I got to try my hand at making the paper. I likely ruined a whole batch of paper with my clumsy attempts, but it was a very generous offer. After the tour of the paper-making part of the studio, we moved to the smaller studio that also served as a showroom. There, we sat on a platform that was covered in hanji (a traditional floor covering), drank delicious honey tea, and made joomchi. It is amazing to me that what feels like destroying the paper is actually creating something soft and even wearable!
This brings me back to grief workshops. When I became a certified grief educator, I thought I would only offer one-on-one coaching. I expected to get clients immediately, since there is a need for space to talk about grief. Unfortunately, this was not a “build it and they will come” situation. Since I wasn’t getting any clients, I started thinking about what I really love to do and where I have the best skills. No doubt that listening is one of my best skills, but there had to be more I could offer.
I have a Master’s degree in Folk Studies. My concentration was in Public Folklore, which not only meant that I didn’t have to write a one-hundred page thesis on a single topic, but that I was preparing to work with the public (as opposed to working in higher education). My first jobs were in museum education, which I loved. I worked with learners of all ages, but my favorite ages to teach were preschool to second grade. Creativity was an important component in teaching those ages, and I enjoyed watching their little hands try to create what their brains were imagining.
When I worked in museum education, I sometimes did a craft making hats out of paper grocery bags. You basically crumple and crunch the paper bag until it is soft. Then you can roll up the edges to make a top-hat style hat. We’d color the bag with markers and glue on paper flowers and other decorations. Joomchi is a lot more sophisticated, artistic, and utilitarian than paper bag hats, but if you want to get an idea of the process, give a paper hat a try!
My first Grief Walk flyer!
After that, I worked for different organizations where I was in charge of managing festivals of music, poetry, material culture, and other traditional expression. Collaboration with community partners was paramount to pulling off a successful festival. It was quite rewarding to bring together artists, administrators, city officials, and the audience at an event that they looked forward to every year, with some people even considering the festival a family reunion. I missed bringing together communities around a single cause.
I follow a million or so people on Instagram who post about grief, where I learned about National Grief Awareness Day, which happens on August 30th each year. I was inspired! I had attended a Story Walk with Window Seat Media, and I’d heard about Wild Grief (though I had not yet been on one of their walks), so I decided to create a Grief Walk through my favorite park in West Seattle, Schmitz Preserve Park. I think I had just a few weeks to pull something together, but I did, blanketing West Seattle utility poles with flyers and spreading the word. I wasn’t quite sure how to market events yet, so that was the best I could think of at the time and on short notice.
One person showed up for the walk. SUCCESS! I consider it a success because he found the walk meaningful, and I knew this was something I could grow into something great. I offered a grief walk each dry-ish month (it is Seattle after all) last year; this year is the second full season of grief walks, and they are going strong. The grief walks have also led to one-on-one clients as well as regular in-person grief groups in West Seattle. I guess what I needed to build wasn’t the business, but a place where people could come together to grieve in nature and with others.
After that success, I had many ideas for other grief events (one of these days I’ll do a fly fishing and grief event), and started looking for collaborators. My first collaboration didn’t work out, but I learned so much about valuing what I offer as a grief educator and good communication with the collaborating partner.
I met Daisha at a West Seattle Chamber of Commerce After Hours event, and then I kept running into her at different networking and social events. I thought that yoga and grief might be a good combination, so I invited her to collaborate. The rest is history on that one! We work very well together, both in the planning stages and during the workshop. There will be another workshop in the fall, so keep your eyes open for the announcements.
Aimee and I had talked about collaborating on a grief and art workshop in September last year, but life got in the way so we tabled it. Earlier this year, I had another Grief Walk inspiration and approached Hiram College about my leading a grief walk in the woods behind the college. They agreed!
Quick history of my relationship with Aimee: we met in Chicago when we were both new employees at the Illinois Arts Council. The staff attended a performance showcase at the local PBS station and Aimee and I ended up hanging out the entire time, since we didn’t really know anyone else. Our conversation was all over the place, including some deep discussion about race and racism. After that, we got together often. I enjoyed going to Aimee’s art openings and performances, and we spent time together with other folks that worked at the Arts Council. Aimee even spent a few weeks sleeping in my living room between graduating from graduate school and beginning her art career in earnest. Somehow, even though we no longer lived in the same city, we have kept in touch for over 20 years. I am an admirer of Aimee’s work and her work ethic. We also bond over good food.
Action shot of me making joomchi in South Korea (2009)
Since I was going to be in Ohio anyway, I asked Aimee if she’d like to revive the idea of a grief and hanji workshop. Aimee is used to teaching in-depth workshops, so it seemed like it might be too much to take on in her busy schedule, but I knew we could simplify it so she would have time. Even though I have some anxiety in my life, I’ve never really been stressed out when I’m planning an event, give or take a few days before major deadlines, but I know that Aimee is different than I am and works on a higher frequency of stress. I assured her we could keep it simple, that the point was to process grief in a creative way, not learn how to make paper. We decided that joomchi would be the easiest to do and requires few tools. And you get to crumple and crunch and twist the wet paper, which seems like a good way to bring physicality to grief. Who among us hasn’t wanted to mangle something when we’re grieving?
Aimee has a relationship with Praxis Fiber Workshop , so she reached out to them about hosting us. They’ve been very generous and supportive of our idea. I’m looking forward to seeing the space and meeting the staff.
On Saturday, I’ll lead a group of people on the grief walk (we’re calling it a Reflection Walk) in Hiram. These woods are special to me; I used to walk back there, most often alone, in contemplation about life, friendships, love, and spirituality. There’s a peacefulness to the woods that is perfect for the grief walk. It will be a success even if I’m the only one there (I won’t be–I know of at least two people who are planning on joining me).
Planning a walk without being able to actually be on the trail has been a challenge, though. It’s been about 20 years since I’ve seen those trees and the creek. But I’ll get a chance on Friday, and I have a great map provided by the Sustainability Coordinator at Hiram College that includes some interesting facts I’ve incorporated into the walk. It’s going to be a different experience than walking in Schmitz Preserve Park (it’s flatter in Ohio, for one) or on the rocky beach at Constellation Park, but the peacefulness of the woods, plus the nostalgia from being at a college reunion, coupled with being together with other grievers, ensures a walk that will comfort and support everyone who joins us.
So here I am, on an airplane, now flying over North Dakota, on my way to Ohio for my first out-of-state grief workshop and grief walk.
