“The whole value of solitude depends upon oneself; it may be a sanctuary or a prison, a haven of repose or a place of punishment, a heaven or a hell, as we ourselves make it.”
― John Lubbock, Peace and Happiness
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I had never heard of John Lubbock before coming across the short quote above. He was one of those interesting 19th century British characters, a titled member of a wealthy banking family who made great contributions to liberal causes and to the advancement of the sciences and math. For example, it was John Lubbock who coined the terms Paleolithic and Neolithic in describing the Old and New Stone Ages, as well as helping to make archaeology a recognized scientific discipline. He was obviously a man who used his position and access to higher knowledge to add to both his own intellect and that of our our collective body.
That being said, his words this morning gave me pause. I have generally viewed solitude as a sanctuary, even in the troubled times of my life. It was a place to calm myself, to gather my thoughts and clearly examine what was before me.
I never really gave much thought to the idea that for some this same solitude could seem like a hell or a prison. What differentiates one’s perception of such a basic thing as the solitude in being alone? How could my place of sanctuary be someone else’s chamber of horrors?
If you’re expecting me to answer, you’re going to be disappointed because I can’t really say. I would say it might have to do with insecurity but I have as much, if not more, uncertainty and insecurity than most people. We all have unique psychological makeups and every situation, including that of solitude, is seen from a unique perspective.
This is also the basis for all art. What else could explain how one person can look at a painting and see an idyllic scene while another can feel uneasy or even offended by the same scene?
Now, the painting at the top, a new piece titled A Place of Sanctuary intended for my June show at the Principle Gallery, is a piece that very much reflects this sense of finding haven in solitude. For me, it is calming and centering, a place and time that appeals to my need for sanctuary.
Someone else might see it otherwise. They might see something remote, alien and unsettling in it.
I may not understand it but that’s okay, too. So long as they feel something…
Redtree Times 
I’ve always been one who loves solitude, but after losing my dear cat last week, the nature and texture of my solitude has changed radically. With no other “life force” wandering around, even the nature of the silence here has changed: it’s flat, and dead — the sort of silence that nothing can fill.
Now, the task is to figure out how to transform the negatives of imposed solitude into positives — or at least neutral. 🙂 This is an interesting post, given my current circumstances.
Linda– I am so sorry about the loss of your longtime companion. Knowing that sense of emptiness that comes in losing such a friend, I know how hard it is to fill that silent space that they once shared with us. It takes a painfully long time to feel less alone in our solitude. All my thoughts to you.
I have known some people who loathe being alone. I worked with one woman who really hated being anyplace by herself and I suspect she needed the presence of other people to validate her existence, or else she had a very high anxiety state and needed the presence of others to reassure her. I, on the other hand, treasure my solitude. Since 20 January, I have been in the same state as Linda — the first time in 21 years I have not had the companionship of a cat. However, Other crises in my life have kind of overshadowed and taken the edge off. But there are still times when I miss my fat(cat)boy excruciatingly.