Corey Pressman on creative play, intentional attention, and why he favors sustained application over quick brilliance. In anticipation of his upcoming workshop, The Alphabet of Everything: Art, Attention, and the Ineffable, he reflects on the quiet rituals that keep creative work alive and shares details about the meditative art form he developed: waxed powder painting. The artist and writer blends a classical Latin adage on restraint with some Joni Mitchell wisdom for our new favorite motto.
What is Esalen to you?
Esalen feels like one of those living liminal spaces, an edge-place where creativity is less fragile and beauty feels always close. It carries an “empty vessel” quality, reminiscent of the Tao Te Ching: usefulness arising from openness, form made useful by what is not there. For me, it represents what becomes possible when people gather in a beautiful place and ordinary time falls away. In that suspension, the real work of creative play gets done.
What do you do / are you doing at Esalen?
I will be teaching The Alphabet of Everything: Art, Attention, and the Ineffable. The workshop explores how intentional attention and creative practice open access to dimensions of experience that resist articulation through our usual modes of communication.
Participants will learn my painting method, waxed powder painting. This technique offers a direct and surprisingly satisfying route into expression. We will work with natural powdered pigments, mixing colors and applying dry powder directly to paper using hand-cut stencils and a range of cool brushes. Each piece is then sealed with a beeswax medium that I will teach participants to make. The wax transforms the surface by deepening color, embedding the pigment, and creating a luminous finish that feels both ancient and new. The process is tactile, immersive, and immediately engaging.
The workshop will move between depth and play. It will be heavy and light, focused and joyful. The aim is not simply to make images, but to encounter perception itself and see what becomes visible when we slow down and attend. Then we paint it with powder on paper.
What is your greatest fear in your work?
That it will stop. That the current will dry up, or that what once felt alive and beautiful will harden into habit. I worry about being overtaken by my ghosts — old doubts, old patterns — and losing the capacity to engage openly. The work requires permeability. If I close, it closes.
The fear is less about failure to produce and more about disconnection: from beauty, from vitality, from the work itself. That is why I rely on ritual and studio habits designed to open the right gates at the right time, to keep the channel clear.
What is your current state of mind?
It’s the middle of a strong semester, and I have a number of art shows and workshops lined up for the year ahead. My practice is in gear, the people I love are flourishing, and I have my health, so I feel energized and grateful. And also a little anxious most days. That seems to be part of the equipment I was issued. It keeps me moving.
What is the quality you most like in a human?
People who are motivated by beauty and discovery are simply more fun to be around. I’m drawn to those who follow genuine curiosity rather than external approval. I also appreciate when someone feels internally aligned, when what they say and how they move through the world seem to come from the same place.
Which talent would you most like to have?
Not to be overtly contrarian, but I am wary of talent. Talent can seduce us into complacency. If something comes easily, we may mistake facility for success. The work that matters to me — creative, expressive, contemplative — usually requires sustained application rather than quick brilliance (at least for me!). So, I guess if I were to choose a talent, it would be the capacity to apply myself fully regardless of talent. The discipline to continue, the steadiness to remain in the work long enough for something genuine to maybe emerge.
How do you maintain your practice(s) during challenging times?
Matthew Zapruder, in Why Poetry?, writes something about poetry that feels true of artistic practice more broadly. Quoting William Carlos Williams, “It is difficult / to get the news from poems / yet men die miserably every day / for lack of what is found there,” Zapruder reminds us that the “news” of poetry is not “mere information, facts and opinions.” It is not the promise that everything will be OK, or that we can retreat into imagination while the world burns. Rather, it is “good news” in the older sense, a reminder that there is always a place where, for a few moments at least, we can feel “protected against the constant superficial distracting noise that is the pressure of the real,” so that we can feel renewed, so that something else can begin to happen. In this way, maintaining my practice is often easier in difficult times. Hard moments clarify why I return. Suffering is perennial. It is always on hand to provide a reason to begin again. It is when I am content and a little sleepy that my practice drifts furthest.
What is your favorite component of your work?
When it comes to waxed powder painting, I am every day drawn to its materiality. Glowy powdered earth pigments, eager brushes, toothy paper, the ready beeswax paste redolent of summer: these elements are immediately transportive. The studio mise en place anchors attention in the senses and the present. In this way, every session begins in contact as much as concept.
The process also thrives on the generativity of beautiful mistakes. Because the pigment is loose and responsive, control is always partial. Brushwork often surprises; unexpected relationships emerge. Moving powder around, surprise often turns to revelation. That moment, when the unplanned carries more vitality than the plan, is what I love most. In the words of Martin Buber, “All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” I want to go to there.
What do you value most in your work/practice?
I value that my work is a manifestation of what I care about most. For me, “arting” and teaching are not separate from my values; they are how I live them. They are places where I can invite vitality, aesthetic experience, and a little space from the usual noise, first for myself and sometimes for others. If the work increases aliveness or attention, even slightly, that feels worthwhile.
What is your motto?
There is a saying from classical antiquity: Festina lente, which means “make haste slowly.” Its paradox was often illustrated through visual motifs: the snail and the rabbit, crab and butterfly (my favorite!), the dolphin and the anchor, images pairing slowness with speed, lightness with gravity. The teaching is simple: move forward with agency, but without frenzy.Or, in another register (via Joni Mitchell): “No regrets, Coyote.” While festine lente reminds us to balance urgency with patience, intensity with restraint, Joni knows we must remain playful, tricky, and unafraid of the open desert. Both point toward the same dance: deliberate movement through uncertainty.
“Remembering to be as self compassionate as I can and praying to the divine that we're all a part of.”
–Aaron
“Prayer, reading, meditation, walking.”
–Karen
“Erratically — which is an ongoing stream of practice to find peace.”
–Charles
“Try on a daily basis to be kind to myself and to realize that making mistakes is a part of the human condition. Learning from our mistakes is a journey. But it starts with compassion and caring. First for oneself.”
–Steve
“Physically: aerobic exercise, volleyball, ice hockey, cycling, sailing. Emotionally: unfortunately I have to work to ‘not care’ about people or situations which may end painfully. Along the lines of ‘attachment is the source of suffering’, so best to avoid it or limit its scope. Sad though because it could also be the source of great joy. Is it worth the risk?“
–Rainer
“It's time for my heart to be nurtured on one level yet contained on another. To go easy on me and to allow my feelings to be validated, not judged harshly. On the other hand, to let the heart rule with equanimity and not lead the mind and body around like a master.”
–Suzanne
“I spend time thinking of everything I am grateful for, and I try to develop my ability to express compassion for myself and others without reservation. I take time to do the things I need to do to keep myself healthy and happy. This includes taking experiential workshops, fostering relationships, and participating within groups which have a similar interest to become a more compassionate and fulfilled being.“
–Peter
“Self-forgiveness for my own judgments. And oh yeah, coming to Esalen.”
–David B.
“Hmm, this is a tough one! I guess I take care of my heart through fostering relationships with people I feel connected to. Spending quality time with them (whether we're on the phone, through messages/letters, on Zoom, or in-person). Being there for them, listening to them, sharing what's going on with me, my struggles and my successes... like we do in the Esalen weekly Friends of Esalen Zoom sessions!”
–Lori
“I remind myself in many ways of the fact that " Love is all there is!" LOVE is the prize and this one precious life is the stage we get to learn our lessons. I get out into nature, hike, camp, river kayak, fly fish, garden, I create, I dance (not enough!), and I remain grateful for each day, each breath, each moment. Being in the moment, awake, and remembering the gift of life and my feeling of gratitude for all of creation.”
–Steven
“My physical heart by limiting stress and eating a heart-healthy diet. My emotional heart by staying in love with the world and by knowing that all disappointment and loss will pass.“
–David Z.
Today, September 29, is World Heart Day. Strike up a conversation with your own heart and as you feel comfortable, encourage others to do the same. As part of our own transformations and self-care, we sometimes ask for others to illuminate and enliven our hearts or speak our love language.
What if we could do this for ourselves too, even if just for today… or to start a heart practice, forever?
Corey Pressman on creative play, intentional attention, and why he favors sustained application over quick brilliance. In anticipation of his upcoming workshop, The Alphabet of Everything: Art, Attention, and the Ineffable, he reflects on the quiet rituals that keep creative work alive and shares details about the meditative art form he developed: waxed powder painting. The artist and writer blends a classical Latin adage on restraint with some Joni Mitchell wisdom for our new favorite motto.
What is Esalen to you?
Esalen feels like one of those living liminal spaces, an edge-place where creativity is less fragile and beauty feels always close. It carries an “empty vessel” quality, reminiscent of the Tao Te Ching: usefulness arising from openness, form made useful by what is not there. For me, it represents what becomes possible when people gather in a beautiful place and ordinary time falls away. In that suspension, the real work of creative play gets done.
What do you do / are you doing at Esalen?
I will be teaching The Alphabet of Everything: Art, Attention, and the Ineffable. The workshop explores how intentional attention and creative practice open access to dimensions of experience that resist articulation through our usual modes of communication.
Participants will learn my painting method, waxed powder painting. This technique offers a direct and surprisingly satisfying route into expression. We will work with natural powdered pigments, mixing colors and applying dry powder directly to paper using hand-cut stencils and a range of cool brushes. Each piece is then sealed with a beeswax medium that I will teach participants to make. The wax transforms the surface by deepening color, embedding the pigment, and creating a luminous finish that feels both ancient and new. The process is tactile, immersive, and immediately engaging.
The workshop will move between depth and play. It will be heavy and light, focused and joyful. The aim is not simply to make images, but to encounter perception itself and see what becomes visible when we slow down and attend. Then we paint it with powder on paper.
What is your greatest fear in your work?
That it will stop. That the current will dry up, or that what once felt alive and beautiful will harden into habit. I worry about being overtaken by my ghosts — old doubts, old patterns — and losing the capacity to engage openly. The work requires permeability. If I close, it closes.
The fear is less about failure to produce and more about disconnection: from beauty, from vitality, from the work itself. That is why I rely on ritual and studio habits designed to open the right gates at the right time, to keep the channel clear.
What is your current state of mind?
It’s the middle of a strong semester, and I have a number of art shows and workshops lined up for the year ahead. My practice is in gear, the people I love are flourishing, and I have my health, so I feel energized and grateful. And also a little anxious most days. That seems to be part of the equipment I was issued. It keeps me moving.
What is the quality you most like in a human?
People who are motivated by beauty and discovery are simply more fun to be around. I’m drawn to those who follow genuine curiosity rather than external approval. I also appreciate when someone feels internally aligned, when what they say and how they move through the world seem to come from the same place.
Which talent would you most like to have?
Not to be overtly contrarian, but I am wary of talent. Talent can seduce us into complacency. If something comes easily, we may mistake facility for success. The work that matters to me — creative, expressive, contemplative — usually requires sustained application rather than quick brilliance (at least for me!). So, I guess if I were to choose a talent, it would be the capacity to apply myself fully regardless of talent. The discipline to continue, the steadiness to remain in the work long enough for something genuine to maybe emerge.
How do you maintain your practice(s) during challenging times?
Matthew Zapruder, in Why Poetry?, writes something about poetry that feels true of artistic practice more broadly. Quoting William Carlos Williams, “It is difficult / to get the news from poems / yet men die miserably every day / for lack of what is found there,” Zapruder reminds us that the “news” of poetry is not “mere information, facts and opinions.” It is not the promise that everything will be OK, or that we can retreat into imagination while the world burns. Rather, it is “good news” in the older sense, a reminder that there is always a place where, for a few moments at least, we can feel “protected against the constant superficial distracting noise that is the pressure of the real,” so that we can feel renewed, so that something else can begin to happen. In this way, maintaining my practice is often easier in difficult times. Hard moments clarify why I return. Suffering is perennial. It is always on hand to provide a reason to begin again. It is when I am content and a little sleepy that my practice drifts furthest.
What is your favorite component of your work?
When it comes to waxed powder painting, I am every day drawn to its materiality. Glowy powdered earth pigments, eager brushes, toothy paper, the ready beeswax paste redolent of summer: these elements are immediately transportive. The studio mise en place anchors attention in the senses and the present. In this way, every session begins in contact as much as concept.
The process also thrives on the generativity of beautiful mistakes. Because the pigment is loose and responsive, control is always partial. Brushwork often surprises; unexpected relationships emerge. Moving powder around, surprise often turns to revelation. That moment, when the unplanned carries more vitality than the plan, is what I love most. In the words of Martin Buber, “All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” I want to go to there.
What do you value most in your work/practice?
I value that my work is a manifestation of what I care about most. For me, “arting” and teaching are not separate from my values; they are how I live them. They are places where I can invite vitality, aesthetic experience, and a little space from the usual noise, first for myself and sometimes for others. If the work increases aliveness or attention, even slightly, that feels worthwhile.
What is your motto?
There is a saying from classical antiquity: Festina lente, which means “make haste slowly.” Its paradox was often illustrated through visual motifs: the snail and the rabbit, crab and butterfly (my favorite!), the dolphin and the anchor, images pairing slowness with speed, lightness with gravity. The teaching is simple: move forward with agency, but without frenzy.Or, in another register (via Joni Mitchell): “No regrets, Coyote.” While festine lente reminds us to balance urgency with patience, intensity with restraint, Joni knows we must remain playful, tricky, and unafraid of the open desert. Both point toward the same dance: deliberate movement through uncertainty.
“Remembering to be as self compassionate as I can and praying to the divine that we're all a part of.”
–Aaron
“Prayer, reading, meditation, walking.”
–Karen
“Erratically — which is an ongoing stream of practice to find peace.”
–Charles
“Try on a daily basis to be kind to myself and to realize that making mistakes is a part of the human condition. Learning from our mistakes is a journey. But it starts with compassion and caring. First for oneself.”
–Steve
“Physically: aerobic exercise, volleyball, ice hockey, cycling, sailing. Emotionally: unfortunately I have to work to ‘not care’ about people or situations which may end painfully. Along the lines of ‘attachment is the source of suffering’, so best to avoid it or limit its scope. Sad though because it could also be the source of great joy. Is it worth the risk?“
–Rainer
“It's time for my heart to be nurtured on one level yet contained on another. To go easy on me and to allow my feelings to be validated, not judged harshly. On the other hand, to let the heart rule with equanimity and not lead the mind and body around like a master.”
–Suzanne
“I spend time thinking of everything I am grateful for, and I try to develop my ability to express compassion for myself and others without reservation. I take time to do the things I need to do to keep myself healthy and happy. This includes taking experiential workshops, fostering relationships, and participating within groups which have a similar interest to become a more compassionate and fulfilled being.“
–Peter
“Self-forgiveness for my own judgments. And oh yeah, coming to Esalen.”
–David B.
“Hmm, this is a tough one! I guess I take care of my heart through fostering relationships with people I feel connected to. Spending quality time with them (whether we're on the phone, through messages/letters, on Zoom, or in-person). Being there for them, listening to them, sharing what's going on with me, my struggles and my successes... like we do in the Esalen weekly Friends of Esalen Zoom sessions!”
–Lori
“I remind myself in many ways of the fact that " Love is all there is!" LOVE is the prize and this one precious life is the stage we get to learn our lessons. I get out into nature, hike, camp, river kayak, fly fish, garden, I create, I dance (not enough!), and I remain grateful for each day, each breath, each moment. Being in the moment, awake, and remembering the gift of life and my feeling of gratitude for all of creation.”
–Steven
“My physical heart by limiting stress and eating a heart-healthy diet. My emotional heart by staying in love with the world and by knowing that all disappointment and loss will pass.“
–David Z.
Today, September 29, is World Heart Day. Strike up a conversation with your own heart and as you feel comfortable, encourage others to do the same. As part of our own transformations and self-care, we sometimes ask for others to illuminate and enliven our hearts or speak our love language.
What if we could do this for ourselves too, even if just for today… or to start a heart practice, forever?
Corey Pressman on creative play, intentional attention, and why he favors sustained application over quick brilliance. In anticipation of his upcoming workshop, The Alphabet of Everything: Art, Attention, and the Ineffable, he reflects on the quiet rituals that keep creative work alive and shares details about the meditative art form he developed: waxed powder painting. The artist and writer blends a classical Latin adage on restraint with some Joni Mitchell wisdom for our new favorite motto.
What is Esalen to you?
Esalen feels like one of those living liminal spaces, an edge-place where creativity is less fragile and beauty feels always close. It carries an “empty vessel” quality, reminiscent of the Tao Te Ching: usefulness arising from openness, form made useful by what is not there. For me, it represents what becomes possible when people gather in a beautiful place and ordinary time falls away. In that suspension, the real work of creative play gets done.
What do you do / are you doing at Esalen?
I will be teaching The Alphabet of Everything: Art, Attention, and the Ineffable. The workshop explores how intentional attention and creative practice open access to dimensions of experience that resist articulation through our usual modes of communication.
Participants will learn my painting method, waxed powder painting. This technique offers a direct and surprisingly satisfying route into expression. We will work with natural powdered pigments, mixing colors and applying dry powder directly to paper using hand-cut stencils and a range of cool brushes. Each piece is then sealed with a beeswax medium that I will teach participants to make. The wax transforms the surface by deepening color, embedding the pigment, and creating a luminous finish that feels both ancient and new. The process is tactile, immersive, and immediately engaging.
The workshop will move between depth and play. It will be heavy and light, focused and joyful. The aim is not simply to make images, but to encounter perception itself and see what becomes visible when we slow down and attend. Then we paint it with powder on paper.
What is your greatest fear in your work?
That it will stop. That the current will dry up, or that what once felt alive and beautiful will harden into habit. I worry about being overtaken by my ghosts — old doubts, old patterns — and losing the capacity to engage openly. The work requires permeability. If I close, it closes.
The fear is less about failure to produce and more about disconnection: from beauty, from vitality, from the work itself. That is why I rely on ritual and studio habits designed to open the right gates at the right time, to keep the channel clear.
What is your current state of mind?
It’s the middle of a strong semester, and I have a number of art shows and workshops lined up for the year ahead. My practice is in gear, the people I love are flourishing, and I have my health, so I feel energized and grateful. And also a little anxious most days. That seems to be part of the equipment I was issued. It keeps me moving.
What is the quality you most like in a human?
People who are motivated by beauty and discovery are simply more fun to be around. I’m drawn to those who follow genuine curiosity rather than external approval. I also appreciate when someone feels internally aligned, when what they say and how they move through the world seem to come from the same place.
Which talent would you most like to have?
Not to be overtly contrarian, but I am wary of talent. Talent can seduce us into complacency. If something comes easily, we may mistake facility for success. The work that matters to me — creative, expressive, contemplative — usually requires sustained application rather than quick brilliance (at least for me!). So, I guess if I were to choose a talent, it would be the capacity to apply myself fully regardless of talent. The discipline to continue, the steadiness to remain in the work long enough for something genuine to maybe emerge.
How do you maintain your practice(s) during challenging times?
Matthew Zapruder, in Why Poetry?, writes something about poetry that feels true of artistic practice more broadly. Quoting William Carlos Williams, “It is difficult / to get the news from poems / yet men die miserably every day / for lack of what is found there,” Zapruder reminds us that the “news” of poetry is not “mere information, facts and opinions.” It is not the promise that everything will be OK, or that we can retreat into imagination while the world burns. Rather, it is “good news” in the older sense, a reminder that there is always a place where, for a few moments at least, we can feel “protected against the constant superficial distracting noise that is the pressure of the real,” so that we can feel renewed, so that something else can begin to happen. In this way, maintaining my practice is often easier in difficult times. Hard moments clarify why I return. Suffering is perennial. It is always on hand to provide a reason to begin again. It is when I am content and a little sleepy that my practice drifts furthest.
What is your favorite component of your work?
When it comes to waxed powder painting, I am every day drawn to its materiality. Glowy powdered earth pigments, eager brushes, toothy paper, the ready beeswax paste redolent of summer: these elements are immediately transportive. The studio mise en place anchors attention in the senses and the present. In this way, every session begins in contact as much as concept.
The process also thrives on the generativity of beautiful mistakes. Because the pigment is loose and responsive, control is always partial. Brushwork often surprises; unexpected relationships emerge. Moving powder around, surprise often turns to revelation. That moment, when the unplanned carries more vitality than the plan, is what I love most. In the words of Martin Buber, “All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” I want to go to there.
What do you value most in your work/practice?
I value that my work is a manifestation of what I care about most. For me, “arting” and teaching are not separate from my values; they are how I live them. They are places where I can invite vitality, aesthetic experience, and a little space from the usual noise, first for myself and sometimes for others. If the work increases aliveness or attention, even slightly, that feels worthwhile.
What is your motto?
There is a saying from classical antiquity: Festina lente, which means “make haste slowly.” Its paradox was often illustrated through visual motifs: the snail and the rabbit, crab and butterfly (my favorite!), the dolphin and the anchor, images pairing slowness with speed, lightness with gravity. The teaching is simple: move forward with agency, but without frenzy.Or, in another register (via Joni Mitchell): “No regrets, Coyote.” While festine lente reminds us to balance urgency with patience, intensity with restraint, Joni knows we must remain playful, tricky, and unafraid of the open desert. Both point toward the same dance: deliberate movement through uncertainty.
“Remembering to be as self compassionate as I can and praying to the divine that we're all a part of.”
–Aaron
“Prayer, reading, meditation, walking.”
–Karen
“Erratically — which is an ongoing stream of practice to find peace.”
–Charles
“Try on a daily basis to be kind to myself and to realize that making mistakes is a part of the human condition. Learning from our mistakes is a journey. But it starts with compassion and caring. First for oneself.”
–Steve
“Physically: aerobic exercise, volleyball, ice hockey, cycling, sailing. Emotionally: unfortunately I have to work to ‘not care’ about people or situations which may end painfully. Along the lines of ‘attachment is the source of suffering’, so best to avoid it or limit its scope. Sad though because it could also be the source of great joy. Is it worth the risk?“
–Rainer
“It's time for my heart to be nurtured on one level yet contained on another. To go easy on me and to allow my feelings to be validated, not judged harshly. On the other hand, to let the heart rule with equanimity and not lead the mind and body around like a master.”
–Suzanne
“I spend time thinking of everything I am grateful for, and I try to develop my ability to express compassion for myself and others without reservation. I take time to do the things I need to do to keep myself healthy and happy. This includes taking experiential workshops, fostering relationships, and participating within groups which have a similar interest to become a more compassionate and fulfilled being.“
–Peter
“Self-forgiveness for my own judgments. And oh yeah, coming to Esalen.”
–David B.
“Hmm, this is a tough one! I guess I take care of my heart through fostering relationships with people I feel connected to. Spending quality time with them (whether we're on the phone, through messages/letters, on Zoom, or in-person). Being there for them, listening to them, sharing what's going on with me, my struggles and my successes... like we do in the Esalen weekly Friends of Esalen Zoom sessions!”
–Lori
“I remind myself in many ways of the fact that " Love is all there is!" LOVE is the prize and this one precious life is the stage we get to learn our lessons. I get out into nature, hike, camp, river kayak, fly fish, garden, I create, I dance (not enough!), and I remain grateful for each day, each breath, each moment. Being in the moment, awake, and remembering the gift of life and my feeling of gratitude for all of creation.”
–Steven
“My physical heart by limiting stress and eating a heart-healthy diet. My emotional heart by staying in love with the world and by knowing that all disappointment and loss will pass.“
–David Z.
Today, September 29, is World Heart Day. Strike up a conversation with your own heart and as you feel comfortable, encourage others to do the same. As part of our own transformations and self-care, we sometimes ask for others to illuminate and enliven our hearts or speak our love language.
What if we could do this for ourselves too, even if just for today… or to start a heart practice, forever?
Esalen Institute
55000 Highway 1
Big Sur, CA 93920
US: 1-831-667-3000
info@esalen.org
