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I feel like I am on a raft at sea, dying of thirst with water all around me. Which is to say on a conscious level I am aware of a number of impulses and ideas begging for me to pick up my pen, brush, camera or journal and act and yet ...
... and yet.
I am recognizing my desire to take on new projects, explore new medium is a form of aversion. Yes, part of me is having fun playing and experimenting but part of me is also hiding. To keep skimming the surface of things (what someone once labeled "scanning") is to avoid going in deeper where things may be murky, dark and scary. But to not visit those places means limiting myself to always living on the surface and also reacting out of fear.
I am listening to Tara Brach read her book Radical Acceptance where she talks about compulsive doing or work as one of the addictions we seek as a means to avoid intimacy with our inner life. She read this passage by Thomas Merton: "To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence." I'm not even sure what it is I am pulling away from or what I think I might find. I just know I need to heed the impulse to draw within. For what I thirst for will not be found "out there"; what I seek - what we all seek - can only be found within. I know it has to do with acceptance, embracing the whole of me with total love and compassion. Ironically, the first poem I nervously submitted to Maya for her feral writing course addressed this issue:
I am tidy by nature -
stuffed animals were organized
according to
order, family, genus
never a mingling of tigers with dogs,
the monkeys kept away
from cats.
Or is it my training?
librarian
historian
life stored in plastic tubs
photo albums
dates, notes, names penned onto tabs.
How is it then
I seem to have misplaced my dreams?
As if all the busy work
was a means of avoiding the void.
Was I careless in my packing?
Or careless with myself?
Tidying my life to
tidy an unruly heart.
Like my petunia plant, I need to do some serious deadheading.I know I need to tend to my heart right now ... there are messages and truths waiting for my attention and too much busyness is preventing me from having the space and time to listen. Listen with openness, love and acceptance which cannot be rushed or crushed into a tight time table. I know I will still be creating as a means of exploring these whisperings, but I am returning to the theme of last summer which was Say Less, Create More. Or maybe Say Less, Trust More?
second baby tooth lost over the weekend
I think if we have a tooth fairy to reward these transitions, then we need a soul fairy to reward our transitions on this journey to wholeness. What should she leave under the pillow?
As I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, Cowgirl plunked herself upon a stool at the kitchen island to do some coloring. As an art historian, I cannot help but notice my daughter's work moves through distinctive phases. First, there was her Blue period followed by a Rainbow period and then a Dinosaur period. Now she working on a Transportation series. There are her Train pieces utilizing an Asian scroll-like format (many sheets of paper taped together) and more recently, Truck Books (incorporating staples - a new favorite rivaling her love for scotch tape.)
in "Blue Thunder" the artist draws upon her previous exploration of the expressive power of blue, incorporating a new investigation inquiry into speed and power as exemplified by the truck and car.
She was drawing away while I busied myself with the dirty dishes, pots and pans (perhaps a Kitchen Series is coming?) Then she asked us to help her spell out the words "Once upon a time." This is a typical scene:
Cowgirl: "Mom, how do you spell Once?"
Me: "O"
CG: "Got it!"
Me: "N"
CG: "Got it!"
Me: "C"
CG: "Got it!"
And so on. (The husband and I argue about the pacing of our spelling out loud. He fires off the letters while I wait for her "got it" before going on to the next letter. I find my brain seizes up when people recite letters or numbers quickly. The worst is on answering machine messages where I have to replay over and over, the numbers always getting transposed in my mind.)
Before long, The Husband had taken a seat by her and together they completed her story book. Cowgirl dictated the sentences, while daddy helped edit and then write out the words. Watching them together, my heart melted. It is such a joy for me when Cowgirl takes an interest in doing art with me and I saw the same pride and pleasure on The Husband's face as he assisted his daughter. You see, I forget that the husband teaches writing (screen writing) along with film production to university students and that, in fact, he is a writer. And in that moment, I realized we are a family of writers.
cover art for "The Orange Car"
"The car used fire rockets to go fast and not get hit."
"Then the car shot back at the bad suns. They were hit and shrunk until they were gone. The car was happy and jumped on a bump to fly away. The End."
When Cowgirl first came home at age 23 months, she spoke just a few words of baby babble and possibly simple Cantonese. Her first English word was "Woof" followed by "Up" which had an Italian inflection to it as I taught it to her saying "Uh, Uh, Pah, Pah" and so it become Uh-Pa! She didn't say much more and we actually discussed whether we should be concerned about her speech. Of course, we are a talkative couple and - you guessed it - quickly we had a very chatty child on our hands.
We are also a family of readers, so it should come as no surprise that Cowgirl is interested in writing her own stories, making her own books. Her first full sentence was "We like dogs." (By now I am sure you are noticing the theme here ... again, no wonder she refers to herself as "C Dog.")
And now she has a number of her books filling the tables in our home. She is becoming more adept at reading and writing words by sounding the letters out and with this new skill, her talent as a story teller is blossoming. I am proud of her joy and sense of accomplishment as she works on her creations. I am also coming recognize the importance of my sharing with her the thrills and pride I experience in my work. In thinking about all this, it is dawning on me that among other things, I too am a writer.
I'm not sure which is harder for me to say - I am a writer or I am an artist? In my heart, I know I am both, but saying so feels awkward and presumptuous. But if I want my daughter to be comfortable embracing her talents, I need to become comfortable doing so myself. I need to practice acknowledging the gifts and the talents that I take great efforts exercising. And it is effort; I know that talent is not a matter of total ease but of perserverence, commitment, passion and practice, practice, practice.
Also essential is taking time to celebrate and appreciate our accomplishments. To do so gives momentum to continue on. As the year draws towards its conclusion, I look back over my list from last January of "Things to Do in 2010." I am stunned to see so many items on my list have been realized or are well on their way to becoming a reality. Some are rather mundane: sew an apron, knit Cowgirl a sweater, wear more dresses. But some are pretty major: attend Squam, be involved in a big creative project (21 Secrets), take a painting class (BIG), skinny dip (at Squam in a frigid lake!), start a women's circle, and connect with some of my "idols" (classes with Marisa, Sarah, and Susannah.)
Connection was a major theme and intention for me in 2010. Another goal was to have my writing and images appear in places other than this blog. And today I am proud to announce I have a guest post up on The Mortal Muses blog for the theme "where i live." Having my work appear in other blogs is like having someone want to hang your art work in their living room. It is one thing to display my pieces in my home, but to have my work accepted into another's space is a huge form of validation. I realized this morning that I have had my work appear in four other blogs and that is a feat I would never have imagined myself capable of achieving. And I don't mean to say that my work isn't worthy, but for me to put myself out there and ask another person "would you read this?" or "would you consider this piece, this image?" is a HUGE accomplishment for me.
In fact, I have another dream project that just received some positive encouragement. I cannot go into the details just yet, but it is an idea that involves art, photography and underprivileged young people utilizing these formats to validate their perspectives, their experiences. I write about this because I almost let my idea whither away. It came to me last summer and I wrote to a couple of people about it, asking for advice on how to proceed. I got no feedback and over time, I let the doubts and the obvious logistical challenges damper my enthusiasm. Then I was in contact with a person whose organization I had hoped to contact for this project, but for a different matter. I was sending an email and it hit me I should mention my idea to this person and ask for feedback or a name of someone who I might contact. I sat at my desk, the angel of enthusiasm and passion shouting "write it! write it!" and the devil of doubt and self-effacement whispering "You can't do this ... you don't have the skills ..." and the most insidious of them all "now is not a good time ... wait until you are more ready for this." I wavered for an instant, and then I typed out my idea and hit the send button. The next day I got a response that my idea is great and she wants to discuss it at the January planning meeting with other departments in the organization.
The story I all too often tell myself is "what I do isn't all that important or big." I am coming to realize, I cannot maintain that lie any longer. For beyond anything I might achieve for myself, there is my impact upon my daughter's life which becomes more apparent every day. She moves her hands like me, she uses similar verbal inflections and facial expressions and now there is her sense of herself and her identity which is directly related to how I think and express my sense of self.
apparently, i am also an ice [cream] truck
Hello, my name is Lisa and I am a hard-working, passionately engaged, and dedicated writer, artist, and mother.
How do you describe yourself? Is it a nurturing or a destructive description? Who do you aspire to be?
(Thank you for the inquiries and well wishes into Moose's current health challenge. He has been doing much better and while we still do not know the cause of his stomach ailments, he is responding well to medication and a convalescence's diet. That said, he has had cravings which lead him to devour the top 2 inches of Rick's boot! So he is recovering from the effects of shoe leather moving through his system. And in a twist of either poetry or perversion, I found myself paying for his last vet's visit - a barium swallow test with x-rays! - and thinking "there go my new black boots." Well, someone got a black boot!)
Did you know today is StoryCorps National Day of Listening? In our home, telling stories is a favorite pass time for Cowgirl. Rides in the car, bath time, waiting in line and of course bed time provide the time and space for Cowgirl to demand "tell me a story!" Daddy's are the best stories (he does teach screenwriting after all and is slavish in his adherence to plot, character development and narrative flow) in that they are wildly creative. A current favorite is an Egyptian mummy hero called Fun King Awesome (say it really fast and you will also understand The Husband's sharp sense of humor.)
The stories I tell are not fiction, but a recounting of our family's history and fall into the domain of StoryCorps project. When Cowgirl wants details of her life, she comes to me. "Tell me about the time there was a noodle in my diaper" is one favorite (with details I believe you prefer not to read) and generally any story that involves her making a mess that we had to clean up.
Learning about the storytelling project, I am reminded of a project I've put on my "to remember" list: an art journal/scrapbook recounting the important stories from my life with Cowgirl and the things I want to tell her from my heart that right she may be too young to fully understand. A book of my wishes and wisdom if you will.
So I find myself considering What stories do I want to preserve for my daughter? And for myself?
Some of the most powerful memories and moments for me were from our first weeks as a family while in China. Those weeks were an intense and accelerated process of getting to know, understanding, trust and bond with each other. As a new and adoptive parent, each and every sign of attachment was a celebration. Mealtimes were often the settings for our greatest victories.
Now, if you have children, image taking a 23 month old out to dinner every night in a restaurant for close to three weeks. Add to that the fact that you and said child are still on unfamiliar territory: this little person is packed to the brim with well formed notions of what is acceptable and what is an affront to their very core. What will upset and what will calm them is still a mystery to you. A side complication: one adult is a vegetarian and the other a more adventurous eater while the child will spit out anything deemed offensive (and you have yet to determine which foods fall into that category.)
Taking all these factors into account, the victory of a quiet dinner with plates cleaned can be fully appreciated. One such night was a dinner in a Japanese restaurant. It was a rainy day and we decided to stay within the hotel complex for dinner. The restaurant was fairly empty and so we figured we would not be bothering any other diners should an Event occur. (One such Event ensued when I took a plastic cup emptied of cheerios away from Cowgirl - she had been chewing on it and I worried the edge of the container would cut her mouth - and she promptly erupted into shrieks that froze a full room of diners as they watched our hasty retreat.)
Cowgirl's favorite foods while we were in China were noodles and fried rice. She became something of a connoisseur of fried rice: she sampled Chinese, Thai and Japanese versions of the dish. Initially distrustful of the Japanese style - it had bigger chunks of vegetables than she was used to - I put her on my lap to try to feed her. There is nothing more comfortable and comforting than a child on your lap. Their little bodies seemed designed to slip perfectly against your torso, they heads resting against our hearts. That night, she was my snuggle puppy nestled into me and like a baby bird accepting bite full after bite full of fried rice from my chopsticks. Odd were the french fries that were part of her dish, and she conveyed her displeasure by jerking her head away from the offending items. She loved her little container of a yogurt drink and sipped carefully from the straw as I held it up to her mouth. She ended the meal with a favorite new treat: Cheerios. Essential to our well being in those days was to always have a stash of them on hand.
Towards the end of our meal, another couple was seated near our table. Occasionally I would see them stealing glances our way. As we left, the young man asked us how long we had been a family. When we told him six days, he was shocked. He went on to explain how he had told his girlfriend we must be back to celebrate the anniversary of our adoption. He had no idea how comforting his comment was and how his observation confirmed what we had been feeling: we were a family.
What stories do you cherish? What memories stir your heart and light up your soul? How do you preserve and share your history, your life? Recognize the stories we tell celebrate the value and meaning of our everyday life. Love is there, in all the glorious details.
In the spirit of THIS Moment, the ecourse I am taking with Mindy Tsonas of Wishstudio, I revisited the practice of taking a photograph every hour for one day. I am thinking of it as my mid-month mindfulness practice as it really helps me to slow down and recognize the details that one day I know I will miss and right now probably take for granted. Like bath time with Cowgirl or my morning commute.
So with little fanfare ... a few details from a typical day:
7 am: feeding Moose on a chair in an attempt to keep him from gulping his food; yes, we are still tired and blurry
8 am: morning commute
11 am: at work (banks of slide cabinets)
2 pm: grocery shopping
4 pm: snack time
7 pm: bath time
While working on this blog post, I recognized a tightening in my navel center and a kind of breathlessness as I frantically tried to pull the words out of me and onto the keyboard. Realizing a griping within my body, I got up and walked away. My mind needed space to open up. My spirit needed to relax and be. I decided to put the kettle on and take a moment to have hot cocoa with my girl.
Our main task in Mindy's course is to work with daily practice pages. Each day we are to take a moment to turn to our pages as an act of grounding within our lives. The page is small and we can do whatever it is we feel called to do in that moment. The point is not about the finished page, but about the conscious choice to pause at least once in my day and notice and be. The page itself is like a snapshot - one moment of my being captured and preserved.
I've already enjoyed coming home and knowing I will have a moment when I can spill myself onto the page. After my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (wow, that book takes on new meaning for me now!) my practice page ended up being a healing way of honoring my feelings while also letting go and moving on. I've started many a gratitude journal, but I think this practice suits me better. It is a more the flexible format, and the the practice is open to whatever I feel call to use: words, images, collage, doodles, whatever is appropriate in that moment is spilled onto the page.
Of course my mind is already jabbering away, thinking about future projects that emerge out of this: a journal with words, thoughts, wisdom for Cowgirl; a holiday journal; a Our Year scrapbook ...
Okay, I am pausing, breathing, and allowing the flow of thoughts to travel on by ...
Maybe later, but for now ... this day, a new page.
I am coming to accept that there is no break between the beginning of the school year and the holidays. I have clung to this notion that there is a bit of a pause before the mania of Thanksgiving/Christmas kicks in, but reality has slapped that delusion out of my head for good. And now I am left with the realization that once again, I have overextended myself. You see, I dream of a November and December where I am mindfully and joyfully preparing for the holidays. Days warmed by the glow of a fire, the smell of treats baking in the oven, and me calmly presiding over a slew of projects that will become a bounty of lovingly crafted, personalized gifts for friends and family.
I can hear you snickering over there!
In the past, I have lumbered through busy days and my delusions, knitting until my hands feel like arthritic claws, finger tips crusty with dried glue from craft projects and in a state of mild shock by the inevitable and panicky Amazon.com purchases made when I realized I could not complete everything on my list in time. Add to all of this my tendency to enroll in challenges and ecourses - forgetful of the fact that not only do I need sleep, I require vast quantities of it just to stay sane - and I give you my recipe for disaster.
This week I have been mindful of how I use my energy and I am determined to set new priorities for myself and my family. The magic of Santa and his elves is very much alive in our house and I want to be present for this time as I know too soon, Cowgirl will be wise to it all.
Essential right now is time together as a family. The days are shorter, the weather has turned cold and we are spending more time indoors. Time together means games, cocoa, reading books and painting. Yesterday I spread out my shower curtain on the dining room floor and Cowgirl and I spent a good hour or so painting. We listened to music, took a break for snacks and just luxuriated in time together. Nothing is sweeter than my daughter pausing after finishing a picture and declaring "I love painting with you." (Yes, she is quite the schmoozer!)
To stay calm and centered, I need to begin each day by setting that intention. I have struggled lately with getting myself out of bed but realistically, I can manage to get up 10 minutes earlier and spend a few minutes either meditating, listening to an affirmation, drawing an oracle card or doing a mini reiki session.
To stay healthy (and believe me, working in a university setting, I am seeing everyone dropping like flies) means rest and good nutrition. We love soups and nothing is easier than throwing tons of veggies into a soup pot and letting it simmering into goodness. Fresh fruit is something I also will allow myself to splurge on. Nothing lifts the dark day doldrums like a juicy piece of fruit. Or fresh juice.
In addition to nourishing my body, I intent to continue to nourish my soul in the coming weeks. Painting keeps me sane, keeps me in touch with the landscape of my inner life and reminds me to look beneath the surface to discover the magic in every moment. My art journals, my painting tribe, my stash of paints - these will be my arsenal for sanity. If a few gifts get made in the process, great, but my priority will be to create for myself. For this is the best way to stay mindful of the beauty of the holiday season. And my very best painting buddy is also my inspiration and muse as she reminds me curiosity is the greatest attribute of an explorer, inventor, artist and lover of life.
cowgirl as a shark floating over a green me
Me: What should Santa bring mommy for Christmas this year?
Cowgirl: More paints!
Yes, she has a handle on my priorities. What is your intention for this holiday season? How do you plan to stay sane and enjoy yourself?
I didn't forget my weekly reflection, I just was busy celebrating. And what was on my mind last week, has continued into this week. It is more of an observation and a realization of how words, ideas, and values can forge deep roots over time while we stay distracted by the details of our days.
When I was in graduate school, I wrote a paper for a seminar on Women and the Arts about a local gallery owner who was a pioneer of sorts bringing International art to the region and forging a career in a field dominated by men. I had a number of interviews with her and to be honest, what I wrote in my paper I cannot remember. The only thing that stuck with me was when she talked about the impact of her career upon her family. She said "My kids grew up in a home where we had little furniture, but we always had art upon the walls." I have carried that image with me for over 20 years. It excited me to think we do have those kinds of choices: what is essential to one person - a coordinated set of living room furniture - would be unimportant to another and that owning art could be seen not so much as a privilege, but a necessity.
Then last year I read this inspired piece on supporting local artists by fellow artist & blogger Kristen which got me really thinking about how support is a two-way street. So I jumped aboard the Etsy bandwagon if you will, and have tried to purchase gifts whose makers I had a face I could identify or at the very least, work that showed the touch of an individual's hand upon it. All of which led me to making this year a Artful birthday. And as I looked around my home for the perfect spot to hang my new pieces, I happily realized supporting artists and surrounding myself with art has been a life-long habit.
I think back to my college dorm rooms where I hung art posters chronicling my visits to the blockbuster Museum shows. My walls were covered by Van Gogh, O'keefe, Monet, and Picasso (I've come to realize, I've always been eclectic). But my first purchase of real art was a gift to myself (see the seeds of a theme developing here?) after I graduated from college. My adviser's husband was a print maker and I had seen this piece hanging in their home when I decided to buy it for myself.
I knew all about the piece: how it was made while their were living in Paris and my adviser was researching and writing about Toulouse Lautrec. Her husband explained how he wanted to explore the challenge of creating a balanced composition within the shape of an oval. He was also inspired by oval mirrors they had seen hanging at Versailles and there is a segment of the piece that replicates the look of antiqued glass.
sideboard by Elizabeth Eckel
This piece now hangs over a side board that my husband had his cousin make for us. She was a master of faux finishes and this piece reminds me of the years we all lived in Boston and she was first learning these techniques. We also have a print by her mother, depicting a scene in Telluride, Colorado where we all have vacationed. I got this piece for my husband's 40th birthday. Sadly, his aunt now has alzheimer's and the piece I bought was one of her last works.
Whenever we travel, we bring home something to remind us of our time abroad: cheap papyrus prints with our names in hieroglyphs from Egypt;
Florence Duomo by street artist
Our home is a wonderful mixture of high and low art. I have pieces Cowgirl made hanging in her room; I have pieces made by myself and my brother from years ago framed and hanging. We have a pair of nineteenth century portraits of a rather severe looking Yankee couple hanging across from a playful Andy Warhol piece; I have a framed poster of Krishna and Radha in my yoga room along with a watercolor series of Cape Cod. And I now have my art scattered throughout the house.
I will be curious to see what the impact of living in a home filled with art will have upon Cowgirl. At the very least, our home is rich with stories and with memories. It is filled with the spirit of all these people who live by creating. I know that inspires me to get up and spill the world inside my mind onto the page in some fashion every day. And if nothing else, the art in my home speaks of a life well lived, people and places and moments savored and who could ask for anything better than that?
I am in week four of Susannah Conway's latest ecourse offering Unravelling 2: Living in My World. Her first course blew the lid off for me in many ways, but the greatest shift was to embrace Fearlessness when it comes to my creative life. The new course is proving to be equally enlightening in more subtle, deeper ways that I cannot articulate just yet. Each week feels like the material is burrowing deeper and deeper into my understanding of myself and how I live - and create - my life. The beauty of the course is a chance and a challenge to articulate for myself my beliefs, my values, my sense of self and how that is crafted daily. In a word, the course is sharpening my sense of Mindfulness.
6 am, 7 am, 8 am, 9 am
10 am, 11 am, noon, 1 pm
This past week the focus was upon the elements of our day. To comprehend how we spend each day, we were to document with our cameras twelve hours of our day, taking a picture or two every hour. What I love about this kind of exercise is how the details of seemingly mundane tasks are highlighted; with attention the prosaic becomes poetry. I found myself noticing the steam on the shower handle, the pattern of dirty cups in the kitchen sink, the landscape of the interstate that I drive every day all deeply engaging when I take the time to notice.
2 pm, 3 pm, 4 pm, 5 pm
So my reflection for the week has a focused awareness of the details of my day and an understanding of the ways my camera and my art (painting, drawing, writing) help me to slow down time and savor the details. Through this practice I am aware of this truth:
"There is a close connection between deep concentration and love, and with the practice of one-pointed attention we can greatly increase the precious capacity to remain loving and loyal no matter what the vicissitudes or circumstances we encounter."
Slowing down and one-pointed attention are two of the Eight Points outlined in a program for living a fuller and more spiritual life by a wonderful teacher, Eknath Easwaran. I have always admired Sri Easwaran's teachings and but have found it challenging to stick to his deceptively simple program. But now I think I have found the right tools to assist me: my camera and my journals.
How do you cultivate awareness of details that make up your day? Care to join me and show us 12 hours from your life?
So I had this very deep, philosophical blog post mapped out in my head ... how perhaps artists today are the Shamans of our society ... revealing the vastness of human experience which many may feel uncomfortable examining ... hence the tendency to lump Creatives with the mad, the unstable, the eccentric ...
I think there is some meat there but when I got up this morning I knew I couldn't stay indoors on the computer and that the best course of action would be an outing to the public garden. And then I stumbled upon this quote and my decision was made:
"Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you truly love." - Rumi
It helped that my "assignment" for the Tribe this week in Fearless Painting was to go outdoors and paint. So I loaded up my backpack with painting supplies, grabbed a camera bag for the polaroid and my trusty canon (I think I need to name my camera ... Lorenzo ... because I swear it does whisper to me in Italian whenever I use it) and packed a lunch of pb&j, apple and energy bar (I know, chocolate would have been more appropriate.) I hit the road, U2 blasting from the stereo and a cool Autumn breeze kissing my face. It was a perfect day.
The public gardens here are amazing. Tucked away on the edge of town right near the river are 100 acres with 20 different garden spaces. I have a favorite spot by the marsh pond that is very secluded with benches under a wooden shelter. I spread out my stuff and began painting the scene before me: a pond filled with lily pads, gold fish, frogs and autumn grasses. The only sounds were a blue jay, the plop of frogs off of their pads and into the water, and a very chatty squirrel. Heaven.
And then they came: wave upon wave of school kids on a field trip. I would guess they were in first or second grade. And as they made their way to my sanctuary, I groaned a little inside. But then the most amazing thing happened: seeing me working, a couple of the boys exclaimed "Wow! Cool ... you are painting." Rather than cover up my work, I explained I was painting the pond and let them take a look at my painting. Staring at the page, one boy eagerly asked "Are you an artist?"
I paused before answering. I was aware of my knee jerk reaction to say "no, no ... just playing" but I that impulse pass. Proudly and a little bit surprised, I replied "Yes ... yes I am." And then ... better than the richest piece of chocolate, better than an A+ on any report card ... this one boy told me "You are are a really good artist!" I think I would have cried except I was too busy staring at the joyful expressions on their faces, as if they had stumbled across an astronaut checking out his rocket. I mean, these kids seem amazed and impressed to stumble across An Artist and who was I to deny them that joy?
Perhaps they knew what we adults have forgotten: that making art is a portal into a vast realm of imagination and adventure; that picking up a brush and some color is a way to uncover the deeper pools of truth that lie within; and that art encompasses all of life - the messy, the organized, the painful, the joyful, the comprehensible and the confused. Making art is a way to invoke magic in the pursuit of healing. The practice connects us to our power, our voice and our ability to create meaning out of that which on the surface often appears meaningless. It is an attribute of being human but one which we far too often deny ourselves. Why? Maybe because of its potency, I'm not quite sure.
I took time to point out the many frogs sunning themselves on the lily pads and watched the kids faces beam when they finally saw the vast busyness of the pond underneath the stillness of the scene. As they left, a few commented on how cool it would be to paint and I yelled to them "Just do it! There is no right or wrong way to do art! Whatever you want, that is perfect." I have no idea what their teacher thought. I only hope that perhaps one child when home, picked up a crayon or some paints and began to explore the possibility that they too might be an artist.
So today, if you were to answer to the pull of what you truly love, where would you go? What would you do? Or more importantly: why aren't you already doing it?
Last week I received this delightful image from one of my Squammie cabin mates:
The arrival of this message touched me in a way I could not quite initially figure out. The wonderful flower head monster was made by one of my creative cabin mates, Liz, and is the traveling companion and subject of a photo journal-log by the equally talented and playful Sharyn. I immediately smiled and the grumpiness that had hovered around me lifted. I emailed my gratitude back to Sharyn and then found myself thinking about Theo - as he is called - for days now.
Finally, it struck me why this little fellow had gotten under my skin and had lodged in my heart: his childlike innocence allowed me to graciously accept the sentiments he was offering to me. I realized that receiving is not something I allow myself to do on any regular basis.
Offer me a compliment and I will shrug it off and say it is no big deal, nothing worth noting, anything to deflect attention away from myself. While I do crave acknowledgment of my work, I also fear the notice as if by looking too deeply at me, the flaws and mistakes will become apparent. I've recognized this tendency in other women - to downplay achievements - but now I am finding this habit within myself to be no longer tolerable. Because by denying myself the kind words, the acknowledgment of my efforts, and the recognition of my Light, I deny others the chance to shine their own. If I am busy hiding myself, I cannot be genuinely engaged in seeing you.
I am also grappling with disappointment in myself for missing an opportunity to grow. For not only have I shunned compliments, I have also avoided criticism and feedback. Yet I tell Cowgirl that we cannot grow if we do not seek ways to improve our skills and our work. Recently, I failed to heed my own advice and now I regret missing a chance to learn how I might improve upon my craft.
I am someone who talks out of nervousness. I have to fill the space. Likewise, my tendency is to be busy doing and not allowing there to be space for emptiness. But what I am realizing is it isn't the emptiness I fear, it is the act of allowing myself to be filled that unnerves me. Yes, I am a bit of a control freak. And I am weary of it.
a work in progress; unfortunately the metallic gold and silver and pale yellow pigments i used do not show up in this photograph. i am thinking it needs a splash of deep red?
In an exercise for 21 Secrets, I did a guided meditation by Effy Wild on Art Journal as Soul Mirror. The intention of the exercise was to uncover my life's purpose, my passion. Doing the meditation the word Attentive emerged for me. I was thinking about attentiveness in terms of mindfulness. And while that thought filled my head, I looked through magazines to find images or words for my journal page. I had almost given up when this text jumped out at me: "Learning to Trust Myself." Working on the spread, a message emerged: I need to cultivate being attentive to myself and to my life in order to hear the whisperings of my heart, and to trust that voice. But first I have to allow space to receive myself and my truths. If I do that, then I am better able to create space for others to uncover their gifts. And when that happens, we all benefit as a circuit of inspiration and empowerment flows through us all.
So thank you Theo for reminding me to open space to receive kindness in words, sentiments or gestures as it is offered to me. Thank you for teaching me I need to allow myself to receive. Thank you for touching my heart and showing me my actions do make a difference to another be it a Flower Head Monster, a child, a stranger or a new friend.
Do you allow yourself to receive? How can we make this a regular practice?
From this day forward, I set an intention to practice Receiving; trusting myself to know when it is appropriate for me to take in another's words, compliments or feedback and when I am to listen to my own heart and follow my own counsel. I welcome compliments and constructive criticism as ways to grow and learn. I may squirm and cringe a bit, but I will keep quiet and allow space for the words to sink in.
second baby tooth lost over the weekend
