Once, I heard someone explain that one reason nursery rhymes help babies is that the physical rhythm of patting and repetition helps wake them out of a dreamy state. It helps to solidify the world. It helps them feel themselves in the body. Slowly, they learn to land on earth, to be awake and conscious.

It is not the same as playing a baby-song playlist from a computer.

Touch, warmth, smell, playfulness, laughter, the repeating rhythm of a body — something in our flesh and bone recognises it as real. It resonates. It meets the beating of our own heart. And then, somehow, we feel alive.

Needless to say, many of us have filled our lives with the virtual instead.

So much so that I sometimes feel as though I am floating in the air, while only my brain remains busy, processing floods of information. My feet do not walk enough. My hands do not touch enough. My skin does not experience the wind. I am drenched in digital, online, virtual, insubstantial media, and it seems to wash the life out of me.

What does that mean?

It means I need to become more conscious in how I encounter the real, every day.

This is part of why Silent Atelier was born. I wanted to make something more real. Something slower. Something imperfect.

The Inner Museum is not only for people who already feel confident around art. It is also for people who think they do not understand art — though perhaps nothing here needs to be “understood” in quite that way — for people who have never been to a museum. The gallery is simply a useful space: quiet enough to notice, quiet enough to stay. What we are practising is not serious art criticism. It is not about perfect handwriting or beautiful stickers in a journal. It is messy. It is clumsy. But it can be honest. And uniquely yours.

So let us walk somewhere today. Let us take a notebook and a pen. Let us switch the phone off.

And let us see what comes of it.

This is where the work begins: in ordinary life.

— Shee

silent atelier.