Traveler’s Heart
When I get ready to go traveling, I always pack something that will give me a way to record impressions. A sketching pen and a notebook used to be enough. Now I include a few more items: I go to an art store for a pen brush. With this, I can do brush sketches, in a quick sumi-e style. Also I pack a sketchbook that has a soft absorbent surface like rice paper.
I add a camera, to capture scenes that I don’t have time to finish sketching. With the snapshots, I can complete the sketches later. Pen brushes with colors or a mini-set of Western watercolors also go in my bag. With these, I will be able to suggest colors for paintings that I might do later. A few paper towels and a small water bottle complete my list.
I’ve always had the heart of a traveler (tabibito no kokoro), but it took me a long time to realize it. I came a step closer to understanding the traveler’s heart when I came upon the travel writings (ryokoki) of Matsuo Basho, a poet and writer in the 1600s. I was excited to discover that traveling and writing about it was part of his life philosophy.
Among his travel writings, the most well-known is Oku no Hosomichi (Narrow Road of Oku). Reading this travel journal, I saw that he wrote about what reached deeply into his heart (fukaku kokoro ni shimiru koto). I discovered that his goal was to see deeply and record inner reflections.
I used to write about my impressions like a reporter: what, where, when, who, and why. Now I look at what I see more closely. I try to put myself in Basho’s position and imagine how he would look at a view.
My written impressions don’t need to be a poem or even be poetic like Basho’s, but I do like them to be a record of the essence of my experience, as much as I am able. I ask myself: what is the essence of this place, this moment? What aspect has the most meaning for me?
I look at a scene and ask: how can I see this more deeply? I note my impressions in a different way. I might include more about the rain than just that it is falling. What kind of sound is it making? Is it driven by the wind, or is it softly and gently hitting the stones beneath my feet?
When I sketch my impressions, I ask myself the same questions as when I am writing travel notes. What is the essence of what I see? What brushstrokes will catch the heart of the scene, of the experience? Slow-moving ones? Or swiftly dancing ones? Every time I travel, I hope to come closer to capturing the heart of what I see.
by Rosemary Warden [© 2010]
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