‘Hiraeth’, biorhythmic health and drawing
Every time I take my van over the border from England back into Wales I feel my nervous system relax, my heart gladden and the sun come out in my soul (even if it’s actually raining – common in this green and verdant land). It was only last year that I began to discover I am one of many who experience the same joy, the same longing to be there and that there was a word for this very state of being – that word is hiraeth in Welsh, conveying a similar but nuanced meaning, to the word saudade in Portuguese.
Derived from “hir”, meaning long, and “aeth”, meaning sorrow or grief, the word hiraeth offers a literal translation that only scratches the surface of its layered significance. “Hiraeth is one of those words that defies translation because of its deep cultural connotations,” says Sioned Davies, professor emeritus and former chair of the School of Welsh at Cardiff University.
Often tied to profound emotional pain, hiraeth surfaces in some of the oldest Welsh texts and has lingered as a poetic burden through the centuries. In the early Welsh verses known as Hen Penillion, an anonymous poet laments the torment of this “cruel hiraeth” that breaks his heart and disturbs his sleep. Steeped in sorrow, the term is frequently understood as a mourning for lost homelands, languages, or traditions—yet it may also hold the promise of their rediscovery and renewal.
It could be because my ancestors were Welsh (I am a Williams through my family line) and I am only an hour from the border; working class, mining stock and resourceful, they moved to England for work in the latter part of the Industrial Revolution. What draws me is the countryside and the coast, the quiet, the warm welcome I always experience, singing in choirs and the communities of resourceful inhabitants. Music, birds, long views and far horizons pull me from my urbanity.
Last year I parked next to a woman who recommended me a book called “The Long Field: WALES, AND THE PRESENCE OF ABSENCE – A MEMOIR’ by Pamela Petro (2023). I enjoyed it very much – another instance of hiraeth nudging up against me. The author says:
‘The Long Field burrows deep into the Welsh countryside to tell how this small country became a big part of my life as an American writer. The book’s format twines my story around that of Wales by viewing both through the lens of hiraeth, a Welsh word that’s famously hard to translate (one literal meaning of hiraeth is ‘long field’). It is also the name for the bone-deep longing for something or someone – a home, culture, language, or even a younger self. The Long Fieldbraids memoir with the essential hiraeth stories of Wales, and in doing so creates a radical new vision of place and belonging’.
Here I am on top of the world physically and emotionally. 360 degree views offering sunrise and sunset, clean air and a home amongst the skylarks. I am so high in fact that the skylarks run around me on the grass before their gradual ascent and transformation into ‘scribbling larks’ beyond where I can see them.
sunset in the side window
I go to sleep when it gets dark and get up just before dawn, I eat when I am hungry and sit and stare at the long view. Biorhythms work nicely. With enough drinking water (no facilities) I spent 5 days treading lightly.
In between the darknesses I walk and draw, practice the ukulele, sit and knit a bit or hum to myself in a Pooh Bear fashion. I write things down which seem important at the time and concentrate on presence. I ponder hiraeth once once more. I draw again.
This last trip I restricted myself to drawing in a small A6 book – an exercise in trying to capture this ‘b i g n e s s’ on a small page. It was somewhat illustrative to begin with and then became more abstract I think. A bit like my mind as it loosened over the days.
A friend, Susie, choir leader and good egg walker and chatterer joined me for three nights to appreciate the vastness and beauty. We shared food and did a lot of bonhomie!
It was cold and very windy but bright and rarified.
We love our houses on wheels!
Here is my art kit for this trip. Small, less choices, easier to dive in, less to blow away off the side of a mountain! A few gouache paints, some coloured pencils and water brushes with a tiny A6 tear off palette by Holbein (Japan).
My next paintings just moved into vast yellow skies – I needed no form as I became more formless myself, merging into the landscape. I can show those another time; hiraeth is hard to paint.
At my next park up I was on a campsite (to shower and charge up gadgets) where a couple arrived to pitch up next to me. I was a little grumpy having had the vastness of mid Wales hills to myself – but after a friendly moment of verbal interchange I discover that this woman was writing a PhD about hiraeth. !!!!! It seemed such an extraordinary coincidence – we could compare pHd struggles AND compare our experiences of a word which most people haven’t heard of but many of whom may experience – especially in relationship to Wales.
So this is where my heart and soul lie, bounded by hiraeth.
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A bientôt and hwre ‘wan!
Bye for now!!
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Clare Wassermann Art 