We Know More Than We Know We Know

Making Thoughts Visible

"We Know More Than We Know We Know"
                          Michael Polanyi

LOOK CLOSELY—A RABBIT OR A DUCK?

The story is elusive. Every time I come close it flits away. How can I write the truth if I don’t know what it is? Maybe I don’t want to know the truth, couldn’t handle the truth if I stumbled over it. If what philosopher Michael Polanyi said is true, “We know more than we know we know,” how can we discern what we can’t see? The answer involves making thoughts visible.

In 1995, my daughter graduated from college with a degree in art education. As we were celebrating, she took me aside and whispered,

“Mom, I have a serious problem. I’m going to be an art teacher, but I don’t know how to draw.”

When the name Betty Edwards popped up, I immediately signed my daughter up for a week-long course in Long Beach, CA with the renowned author of Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain.

My daughter’s before and after drawings were mind blowing. In one week, not only had she learned how to draw, but she created a portfolio she would go on to use with her students for years. The gift my daughter brought home for me was Edwards’ second book--Drawing on the Artist Within which I later adapted (with permission) as a process for drawing out a story. These techniques became the basis for my first book--Needless to Say--a compilation of women’s stories as they explored their needs and searched for fulfillment.

A drawing comes into view—two people with a line between them. They’re stick figures—a simple sketch.

“So, tell me about this drawing you’ve made,” I ask.

“I’m on the left and my husband is on the right. We aren’t getting along well and that’s why we’re so far apart,” the interviewee explains.

“What’s the line running between you? I ask. Could we take that out of your picture?”

“Oh, no,” she responds emphatically, “That’s what’s holding us together.”

I pause and start to refute her answer. I see it keeping them apart. Why am I inserting myself into her picture? I’ve never done this in an interview before. This has nothing to do with me. Why am I getting so riled up about someone else’s drawing? Then it hits me. I have a similar drawing:

There’s no line between me and my husband—there’s a bathroom scale. My husband hates fat people and I’m heavy. I figured my weight kept us apart. No wonder I argued with my interviewee when she insisted the line kept them together. I could not fathom the truth of her statement. Was it possible my weight kept us together? My low self-esteem kept me tethered?

My pen flashed across the page. Could I have kept myself fat to stay married? Was I fearful of letting go of the scale between us? While these thoughts were abhorrent, I knew I was capable of deception. I spent my life as a woman of perfection. I followed all the rules, said my prayers, stayed married. Someone else’s sketch completely upended my life, arguably saving it.

The process to draw out a story begins with a simple sketch—stick figures with no written words or icons. A frame is drawn next as a form of boundary. Then the drawing gets a title.

Make a sketch of something you’d like to find an answer to—maybe why you’re stuck in your writing process, why you seem to keep using the same excuse, why you’re in a pattern and feel like you’re not getting anywhere. There are a series of questions you can ask yourself about your sketch or you can buddy up with someone who can help you. There are no right answers to the questions. Observations are only known by you and may or may not help you get unstuck.

I’ll be taking you through a process I used for my book as women uncovered their needs and worked toward fulfillment. Although the book was never published, it was the impetus for my debut novel, Paper Bags, pub October 2021 by Woodhall Press.

It’s 4 AM, candle lit, mantra mumbled, pen in hand, and nothing. I glance at my phone—why not see what’s happening on Twitter, find some motivation? Instagram? Facebook? There was a time I was prolific, but those were stories about other women, not my own story. It was twenty-five years ago. I pick up my pen and start to sketch…

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There’s No Expiration on Dreams,

Trish