In The Sand Beneath Our Feet, Creative Redemption.
Brian Collins’ beautifully realized perspective on nature, creativity and two old houses in the woods.
I am insanely envious of Brian Collins. Partly because Brian is a seriously transformative force in design. Partly because of COLLINS, the world-renowned design company that bears his name. Partly because of his particular brand of creative visionary. But most of all, I’m envious of Brian because he gets to spend time in Woods Hole, Massachusetts which let me tell you is a bonafide magical place. Brian has written about it several times on LinkedIn. His latest post I found to be especially enchanting. I asked him if I could feature it in today’s edition. I’m happy to say he said yes.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -over and over announcing your place in the world.
Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”
Two old houses in the woods, secluded in our retreat in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, are steps from the Atlantic Ocean.
Had we been born in an earlier era, my colleagues and I would have become painters or writers of sailing stories and far off lands. My more adventurous colleagues, explorers of the sea.
Instead, born into an age of space travel, hyper-connected media, robots and beings of artificial (if not alien) intelligence, in the middle of collapsing natural ecologies, we concern ourselves with design and the future, instead. And new futures arrive on our doorstep every morning.
As we build new tomorrows with our clients and friends, time comes at us unformed, now. And as that time is filled with possibility, our imaginations can shape it.
Imagination is our threshold to a meaningful existence. And our wild coast, filled with dramatic weather, presents forces that will awaken the most resistant mind. You can find creative redemption here just walking along the shore.
It has for many.
From painters like Helen Frankenthaler, Robert Motherwell and Willem de Kooning to architects Walter Gropius and Marcel Breuer to writers Tennessee Williams, E. E. Cummings and, of course, Mary Oliver.
People flock here just to visit the landscapes that inspired Edward Hopper. I get to pass them, daily.
COLLINS needed a place away from the great energies of the cities we live in – not always moving amidst the intoxicating grind of an urban beat.
And as our teams venture into the unknown of A.I., imagination itself will be our most fierce ally. So we must be fluent in all its forms.
Imagination seeks community. So, when we design, we design not only for us or our clients, but for everyone.
In that way, our work might become a gift not only for ourselves, but for all the larger communities we serve. Thus the reason we wanted to create what we now call "TreeHaus" on Cape Cod.
It was also, frankly, selfish.
Half of me, like many creative people, is built to strive and compete and build and jet around the globe. But the other half is built to read poetry on the beach, draw in a sketchbook and live with friends in a cottage in the woods filled with books of legends and fairy tales.
So I – and all of us here – can now do both.
Without slipping into sentimentality, we have learned more about each other walking down to the bay, lighting the fireplace and cooking breakfast than from any staff meeting.
Knowing well what we are up against in the world, we have learned that we can be saved by the beauty of the world, too.
As my colleagues will tell you, it always vibrates with possibility.
Especially today.
We hear the geese returning while we dry the dishes.
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