Svādhyāya (स्वाध्याय) is a Sanskrit term that means self-study, in particular the recitation of the Vedas and other sacred texts. The word is made up of Sva, meaning own, self, or the human soul, and Adhyaya, meaning lesson, lecture, or reading. In various schools of Hinduism, svadhyaya is a Niyama (virtuous observance) connoting introspection or an ongoing study of the self.
I first heard this strange sounding word when I was going through my 200 hr yoga teacher training in 2014. As part of our education, we were required to memorize the Yamas (duties or restraints) and the Niyamas, along with a host of other words and precepts.
The idea of cultivating an observance of oneself made sense within the confines and practices of yoga. To deepen the awareness of what is happening in the physical body during a particular posture or closely tune into the thoughts of the mind while meditating, resonated the more I hit the mat. But the term came to mean even more to me when I took it off the mat and back to my studio, and then out of the studio and into the classroom.
In the studio, self-observation might take the form of a question: Why do I start this way? Why do I gravitate toward this color? What does this painting need to feel more balanced, complex, interesting? How can I bring in something new? It might also manifest as a kind of deep honesty, for example noticing when I am feeling impatient or rushing to complete a piece that really needs more time. At one point, a few years ago, I recognized that I tend not to make very good decisions after 4 o’clock in the afternoon. By that time I am often tired and need to wrap things up. I shifted my studio hours, coming in earlier and leaving around 5 each day. By deepening my attention, I am able to participate more actively in the back and forth conversation that I have with each painting.
The first time the word slipped out of my mouth while teaching was during a workshop on translucency and depth. I was demonstrating how to hold a brush so that the thinnest, most even layer of encaustic glided onto the surface of a warmed panel.
“You make it look so easy,” one student laughed. I laughed too, but I realized that my students could learn more from me showing them what not to do than from a demonstration of the ease with which I built transparent layers.
I shifted gears and began showing them all the ways I knew you could screw it up - overlapping layers, holding the brush at such an angle that medium poured out and left a thick section of encaustic on one side of their painting, allowing their hand to dip slightly as they reached the edge of a panel, depressing the bristles such that a ridge of wax formed along the side.
“Watch how you paint,” I told them. And then, without planning or intending to do so, I told them about Svadhyaya.
I felt silly at first. I wondered if they might think I was ever so slightly off my rocker. Maybe some of them did. Who’s to say? But the word, coupled with my demo, made an impression.
Practicing the art of self-study in the studio offers the opportunity to take a step back inside oneself, to detach just a little bit, and to observe what is happening with your hands, with your brush, and with your mind while you work.
In a workshop at Penland School of Craft last week when I mentioned this idea, a student asked me to spell the word. “Svad-h-yaya,” she sounded it out. “I like that. I’ve got to write that down.” I noticed I no longer felt self-conscious.