Reflections from a Wellness Focused Art Practice featuring Mackenzie Browning

[AI ] TRANSCRIPT:

“Tend to beauty like a garden. Because to notice it and nurture it, especially now, is no small thing.”

Welcome to High Five. I'm Heather Kelly, and today we get to speak with Mackenzie Browning about his reflections from his art practice. So Mackenzie is an artist, and we've been following each other on social media for quite a while now, and we had a chance to finally connect and chat in real life at the Artist Project. I'm so glad that we have a chance to speak now. Welcome, Mackenzie. I'm so looking forward to hearing your reflections from your art practice.

Yeah. Thank you. Heather, I appreciate you inviting me on here. It's it's an honor. Yeah. So over the past decade, I've led workshops across Canada and the United States, in art centers, schools and community spaces. Those experiences have shaped how I see creativity not just as a skill, but as a way of holding space, of making room for slowness, connection, and the overlooked parts of ourselves.

So the five reflections I'm sharing today, they aren't really rules. They're more of like, reminders. Anchors I return to when I need to recenter or reconnect. Maybe one will meet you where you are. Whether you're starting out, starting over, or just looking for a deeper rhythm. I love it. That sounds so wonderful and I love the alignment and creating space.

So, so my first reflection is build community, not just an audience too. So early on I thought success meant, visibility. Having work in shows, gaining followers, being featured. But I've learned that being seen isn't the same as being supported. So some of my most meaningful moments, they didn't come from exposure. They came from relationships. Workshop kind of conversation that turned into a mentorship, a studio visit that became a collaboration years later.

An email thread that turned into, like, a shared space for honesty. When I lived in Colorado, I worked with youth navigating instability. And we weren't focused on, like, polished outcomes. We were creating a space where people could make without kind of fear and maybe just breathe. And that energy is something I carry forward. Recently and, Mendel and wellness workshop that I lead, we started with a simple breathing pattern, and it was four counts in hold for, for, for out hold for four and then repeat.

And we repeated that between like five and seven times, to kind of set the tone. And I noticed that the room shifted. We hadn't even, like picked up the pencils yet, but connection had already formed. To me, community is about shaping spaces where people feel safe enough to show up as they are not as performers, not as finished products, but as human beings with nerves, stories and hope.

Yeah. Just real. I've come to believe that most people don't need more content in the world we live in. They need more calm, more places to explore without pressure, where creativity comes from, curiosity and not performance. Because reach it doesn't always equal like residents. You don't need thousands. You just need a few who truly, like, see the through line of your work.

A creative life is very much like a garden. The roots take hold long before anything blooms. And it's the unseen parts, the underground work that creates, like, true stability in the arts. Relationships take time. But they're what allow you to kind of weather the seasons. So don't just build an audience. Build a circle. Even a small one. Especially a small one.

Love that idea. And give it breathing room. Beautiful. Thank you. So my second, reflection is share your skills, but let structure support the spark. And skill sharing is powerful. And in a world where knowledge is often get kept. Choosing to share what you know can really feel kind of quietly radical. Watching someone light up when they realize they can make something like, that's that's the magic in all of this.

But to sustain that magic, we need structure. Not rigidity, but like rhythm. A container that lets creativity breathe. So in the beginning, I gave pretty freely and endlessly, like a lot of us do in the arts. I said yes to much. And I'll admit it like I did. I did burnout at one point, and I've learned that this care needs form.

If I wanted to keep teaching and loving it, I had to create systems that supported, both the participants and myself. And printmaking taught me that it's all about layers. Every step builds on the one before. With structure in place, there's more room for play. So now I design workshops with this in mind. I use, precut materials, printed guides that you can take home, visual instructions, time for, pause and laughter.

And I build type I like. I build these for multiple types of learners and I also block off a buffer time for myself. And this isn't like about being rigid. It's about setting up kind of like a scaffolding so that the creative spark has somewhere to land. So I like to think of it kind of like a trellis in a garden.

So you're not dictating how that vine chooses to grow, but you're just giving it something to grow into. I love what you said. Also, it's the structure for magic to happen, you know? Yeah. And all of that is within us. Yeah. Right. So the third reflection that I have is, big space where people feel safe to experiment.

And, and this really kind of continues on from the previous point. But many people come into creative spaces carrying, like, a quiet kind of fear. A teacher who said they weren't, talented enough, sibling who was the artistic one? A past failure. And these stories stick and they shape how people create or whether they create at all.

And, that's why I really prioritize emotional safety in my workshops. So not just a surface sense of welcome, but like a deeper space for risk, for laughter and for imperfection. And I've seen people light up after years of thinking they weren't creative, not because they learned a new technique, but because they were given room to try. And it all kind of starts with tone, with how you welcome people, with how you talk about process as exploratory or linear.

So often in our education systems, you know, we're kind of taught this more linear path, but really it's, you know, it's a wave or it's a roller coaster. Yeah. Or electoral map. Yeah. Yeah, yeah. And this idea of, you know, you can start over at any time and you can build something by small actions every day. So in my own practice, mistakes and reworks are essential.

And I try to model that in teaching because once people stop aiming for perfection, they start like creating in ways that are way more alive. And it can it can really form community. So creativity doesn't necessarily grow and pressure, but it can grow in presence. So I try to offer tools, set the tone with care and intention, and let the outcomes be unknown and the process be what truly matters.

Yeah. When you're saying about how people have been told that they're not creative or have this belief, and that's just heartbreaking sometimes. So you know, hearing about these, these safe spaces to experiment and to play and to think creatively and differently. Just again, it sounds it goes back to earlier points, but it sounds very magical and really needed, you know, just to open up those channels for people.

So, yeah, making space where people feel safe to experiment and it all connects to kind of my following, reflections too. So my fourth reflection is let slowness shape your process. So I used to rush, I would rush making, sharing, promoting. I worried I'd be forgotten if I slowed down. Some of this comes from, you know, my own education system, but kind of go go, go.

And growing up around southern Ontario to. But I noticed the work I valued, the most came from like, a slower pace. From listening to rhythm and not necessarily urgency. And living rurally has also helped. Like, I lived just outside of, Hamilton, Ontario. But you can't rush the seasons. You learn to kind of move with them.

And that's really influenced my own artistic practice. So when I made The Teardrop Effect that you saw at the Toronto Artist Project, when I made this big installation, it's it's all cut paper. And the process took weeks of repetition, if not months. And it would be, you know, print dry cut shape. And at first I felt kind of behind in it.

Like a lot of slow work. It can kind of create that sense of feeling like you're not going to necessarily get there. But eventually the slowness became calming and the repetition became meditative. And psychologically, these tactile processes activate our parasympathetic nervous systems. They can help us regulate and they can help us feel safe. So slowness is actually a form of care.

And it says like, this matters, I matter, the work matters. You matter. And I try to protect that now. I walk before I work. I let pieces rest. I leave breathing room in the practice itself. And I can go kind of into this creative zone with more intention. And in a world that's always pushing for more.

The slowness is really the statement in that that is so powerful that the slowness is a form of care. And I'm a big fan of nervous system care and nervous system love. And I'm here some of that in that that slowness is a form of care, whereas it can sometimes be assumed to be something else, you know.

Oh, yeah. Really powerful reframe. Yeah. So my final reflection is tend to beauty like a garden because beauty is radical. And we don't often talk about how radical beauty can be. And I don't mean like, surface level beauty, but I mean presence. Like what we've just been talking about. The tension. A kind of resistance to a rushed and extractive world.

And for me, creating is a way to kind of tend and care. So similar to the garden metaphors that we talked about. But also in relationship to artmaking and studio practice. So planting, printing, building. They're all acts of stewardship. And beauty says, you know, this color matters. This curve matters. This detail, this moment. Not because it's flashy, but because it holds meanings.

It invites us to slow down and feel, not because it's perfect, but because it helps us feel. And I'll, I'll kind of explain this a bit. In a previous installation that I made. It was called Barrier Green, and it's this immersive geometric indoor garden. It's all screen printed by hand. And, and I explored our disconnection from nature.

It was kind of a it was beautiful, but also artificial. And people didn't know whether to feel comfort or unease. And that tension was exactly the point of it all. And that beauty can hold both, both tension and unease. It can soothe and confront. And it's it's kind of a great entry point in many ways. And neuroscience tells us that beauty and art and nature and music, it triggers dopamine.

It motivates it helps us focus and heal. And it brings us back to the present and traditionally in kind of a more academic world. Beauty is seen as maybe naive, where something more cynical is seen as academic. And I like to play between that, that duality. And that's also part of the disconnect that I talk about in my studio practice.

But it's that presence of beauty that makes it powerful. And beauty is not weak. It's actually bold. Especially when it's made by hand. Over time and with care. So tend to beauty like a garden because to notice it and nurture it, especially now, is no small thing. Destined to beauty like a garden. Thank you so much for sharing.

It's been such a joy to hear, and I know I'm going to want to take your and watch this so many times. Everybody watching and listening. Please do. Mackenzie, where can people find you? Online. Online? People can find me on Instagram. It's @MacBrowning. And just type me in Google. Mackenzie Browning artist. I'll pop up.

Yeah. You're perfect. Okay. We'll find you online. Thank you so much for joining me today. It's been such a joy to share the conversation. And I really feel like, share the energy, of of the intention of your work. So. Thank you. It's been such a pleasure.

Thank you. Heather.