Tag: Walking Reflections

Serious Play, Solemn Play

Abstract pen and ink drawing inspired by serious play vs solemn play, with flowing maze-like lines and a central vertical form exploring movement, balance, and the space between.
Pen and Ink | The Space Between — 5 × 5 in

Walking Reflection — April 17, 2026 Serious Play, Solemn Play

Years ago, I showed my students at Minneapolis College (MCTC) a video by Paula Scher on serious play vs. solemn play, and I find myself returning to that idea again.

“Serious play is about letting go and allowing things to happen. Solemn play is about controlling the outcome.” — Paula Scher

Years ago, I showed my students at Minneapolis College (MCTC) a video by Paula Scher on serious play vs. solemn play, and I find myself returning to that idea again.

At the time, I understood it pretty simply. Serious play felt open and exploratory, a place where not knowing was part of the process. Solemn play felt heavier, more controlled—something that closed things down.

But now I see it differently.

I think solemn play comes after serious play. Serious play is where things begin—where something opens, and I don’t quite know what I’m doing yet. But then something starts to form. A shape, a direction, a presence begins to emerge.

That’s where solemn play enters. It feels more like a kind of holding. A kind of listening. A willingness to stay with what’s emerging without trying to resolve it. It requires attention.

It’s almost like the kernel forms in serious play, but it begins to take root in solemn play.

Maybe the movement isn’t one or the other. It feels more like a quiet rhythm back and forth—between letting go and staying present, between discovery and care.

Where I am now isn’t about trying to get back to serious play.

It’s about learning how to remain in that space where something begins to take shape,

and then… the conversation begins.

When Is a Work of Art Finished

Walking Reflection — April 14, 2026
When is The Work Finished?

Door05192024, Mixed Media, Pen and Digital, when is a work of art finished doorway artwork
Door-05192024, Mixed Media, Pen and Digital, Hendricks 2024

“The work is done when it has nothing more to say to you.”
— Robert Rauschenberg

I made an appointment to have ten pieces framed — thinking about when a work of art is finished.

And then I canceled it.

At first, I thought I had chickened out.
That I didn’t have the courage to follow through and see how they are received.

But the more I sat with it, the more I realized — that wasn’t quite it.

I’m not ready to separate myself from the work.

Not because I’m afraid of losing it,
but because it doesn’t feel concluded in the way framing suggests.

When I imagine putting the pieces behind glass, something in me tightens.

And right now, they don’t feel done.

They still feel open and accessible.

They’re still in conversation with me —
and I haven’t figured out their path. Maybe there isn’t.

If they’re framed and set aside, even carefully, they become removed.
Not just physically, but creatively.

And maybe that’s what I was really responding to.

Not fear of letting go —
but resistance to closing something that’s still open.

There’s a kind of pressure in making art to declare things finished.
To move them forward.
To let them go.

But sometimes the more honest thing
is to stay with the work a little longer.

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See more in Walking Reflections.

Presence Without Witness

Abstract watercolor of a fragmented head with window-like compartments and circular mechanical forms, suggesting shadowed urban architecture.
Tenement-02172026-watercolor

Lately I’ve been thinking about what remains of us.

Not reputation.
Not a big story.
Not even the full face.

Just trace.

A shadow on concrete isn’t the person, but it proves something stood in the light.

I keep circling the idea that existence doesn’t require constant visibility. When awareness drops away — sleep, silence, the spaces between — there isn’t spectacle. There isn’t narrative. And yet something remains.

Maybe that’s what a shadow is.

Not the full reality.
Not the whole person.
Just proof that contact happened. That light met form.

Not monument.

Existence.

A human being is only breath and shadow.                                                           ~ Sophocles

Minneapolis Walkways Need to be Safe

Minneapolis Sidewalk Accessibility Matters

Hi, I am sharing this article I wrote about the condition of our Minneapolis walkways. I hope this helps spark conversations that continue and lead to real solutions for this citywide problem.

https://www.startribune.com/municipal-sidewalk-shoveling-debate-mpls-accessibility/601548203

I am grateful that the Star Tribune published my commentary. As I grow older, this is becoming a greater concern. After 15 years in NYC, I am a walker. You see so much and learn a lot.

If you can’t access the article, you can find the text in my Google Docs: Winter Walkways — And Pedestrian’s Access.

Walking Reflections — November 7

Mark Making Chart:  Ephemeral Traces of Life

“It is not art in the professionalized sense about which I care, but that which is created sacredly, as a result of a deep inner experience, with all of oneself, and that becomes ‘art’ in time.”
— Alfred Stieglitz

A softly lit artist’s desk scattered with sketches, notes, and bits of color — a quiet space of reflection where creative traces remain after the day’s work.
My desk  — where all the threads seem to meet.

My art runs like a cable through all parts of my life, informing each piece of my ecosystem and holding the whole together. Whether it’s in the studio, in Second Life, with my family, or within my Quaker community, each part of my world informs the others.

The priority of these elements shifts day by day, even moment by moment — sometimes family (my refuge), and other times the other parts of my life take the lead. But it’s all part of my ecosystem.

Today, when I came home. I looked down at my desk — scattered with sketches, notes, and bits of color — I saw how true that is. Every part of my life leaves a mark here, fragile yet real: my ephemeral traces reveal my thoughts and making.

Bill Hendricks