PSALM Retreat: Pause for Silence
Through Art, Literature, & Music.
January 20–22, 2008.
A time for retreat for those who love to create and hold an appreciation for the Arts, to focus on the Voice of God speaking through the Adirondack winter silence, and to learn to better reflect and express with our art. To watch, listen, experience the work of others, as well as sharing our own work. Camp Fowler has a unique stillness during the wintertime, known to refresh and revive the soul. We’ve found no better time for inspiration than to pack up in the dead of winter and head to the Adirondacks. Few artists like to force creativity, but we have found how essential it is to allow for creativity. Such times seldom come during the heat and hustle of our busy lives. This is a time to allow inspiration and creativity.
Musicians, storytellers, dancers, writers, painters, sculptors, as well as art appreciators in any capacity are welcome to take the time for pause and/or silence. During these few days, you are welcome to stay where it’s warm and cozy or venture out into the cold. If you go out, you can take a walk in the woods or on a frozen lake, or light a fire in the fireplace at Lakeside Lodge or the Chapel. You’ll be encouraged to spend your free time absorbing and/or creating. Use the time to create by yourself, work with others, or just wander in search of inspiration. It’s all time well spent.
Hosted at Camp Fowler in Speculator, New York, by Scott B. Adams, Heather Moore Niver, & Ryan Niver. For full details & registration info click here, or e-mail Heather at bloodorangepoet [at] gmail [dot] com
and the heavens still hold
a million candles; nowhere
the familiar things:
stars, the moon,
the darkness we expect and nightly turn from. Trees
glitter like castles
of ribbons, the broad fields
smolder with light, a passing
heaped with shining hills;
and though the questions
that have assailed us all day
remain—not a single
answer has been found—
walking out now
into the silence and the light ‘under the trees,
and through the fields,
feels like one.
—Mary Oliver, from “First Snow” in New & Selected Poems