The truth is, most of us discover where we are headed when we arrive. ---- Bill Watterson, creator of Calvin and Hobbes
A friend once told me that she viewed her morning shower as a sacred experience. A wise woman deeply attuned to the spiritual, Dody explained that she accepts her morning ablutions as a reminder, a reaffirmation of sorts, of her baptism. I don't know that I think of my baptism often in the shower, but I have become accustomed to centering myself for the day ahead as the water rushes over me. Recently I had an "a-ha" moment as I was rinsing the shampoo from my hair.
What if in life, like art, you have to step back occasionally and allow the picture/story/path to reveal itself?
I am new to this whole "art thing." After 8th grade I left art, in any form, to the artists. As an adult I enjoyed gallery exhibitions, bought original art and celebrated others artist achievements; but surely
I was not an artist. Although I indulged in a few "craft" classes here and there, I never considered myself to be a creative type.
Me thinks I doth sell myself too short. It has only been in the last year or two that I have allowed myself to play around with paint, beads, scraps of paper and Modge-Podge. I doubt there is a gallery showing in my future, but that's okay.
I am allowing myself to be open to the process, to step back and allow the door to the psyche to be opened. I am finally ready to accept the lessons that doing/making art has to teach me about life.
It's not about perfection, it's about finding your own voice. I still cringe when I think of art class. I wanted to my art project to be PERFECT, whatever that means. It was never perfect so therefore
my creation was ugly, I was stupid and had no talent. Whether it was poor teaching or my own lack of self-worth, I could not fathom that I was not expected to be a Rembrandt, Van Gogh or Dali. Somehow the idea that I could be myself and create something for the pure joy of it
never occurred to me. Also lost to me until now was that I did not have to make something that looked like the ones everyone had created in order for it to be "good."
Perspective matters. Yep, it really does. Just as the same scene can look different depending on where you stand to record it, so does my life look different depending on how I think about it. Just as items in the background of a picture are smaller than the ones in the foreground, if I let them, incidents in my life are lessened (get smaller) as they fade into the past. My past failures will remain turning points in my life, but
I no longer feel like a failure.
If you mix too many colors together it makes brown. If a little is good a lot is
NOT always better. In Junior High I was Princess of the Kingdom of Brown, one or two colors was never enough. Long have I struggled with
I am not enough-ness, finally coming to realize that doing too much (over commitment) leads to either an unfinished project or some sort of
brown mediocrity. I am actually able to accomplish more of a greater quality if I commit myself to doing fewer things at a time.
Sometimes you have to put all the little pieces together first before you can see the big picture. Taking a lesson from collagery, I've learned that sometimes it is impossible to understand the whole story until I've assembled all the little aspects. Or other times I
think I know what the outcome will be based on small individual parts, but when assembled it appears totally different. Or I may not see it the same way each time I look at it. I have found this to be especially true when dealing with issues of race, gender, class and sexual orientation. Being open to seeing it differently than what I expect to see is an important part of the process.
Blank paper has two sides. You CAN start over. Complaining to my friend and painting guide, Aletheia, that I didn't like my first painting of the night, she simply replied, "Is there anything on the other side? No? Well, then turn the paper over and start again." Similarly, St Benedict observed that everyday we can begin again, letting go of the failings of the day before. I am reminding myself tday after day, all is not lost if I don't like how it turned out the first time, or the second, or the third. (See "It's not about perfection...")
You just have to know when it's finished. I never learned the name of the woman next to me at that Painting Workshop, we didn't talk much, but in our brief exchange she gave me some advice I'll carry with me for a long time. At just the right time, she leaned over and said, "I'd frame that right now. Sometimes you just have to know when to stop, to see when it's finished." She is right on so many levels. It requires self-awareness and sometimes courage to know when a relationship, project, job or even a conversation is finished. Following through on this knowledge can be difficult when surrounded by others who don't want it to end, but listening to the still small voice never fails me. I should do it more often.
Step back from the table occasionally and allow the picture to emerge. One seasoned painter friend told me that great art can't be forced, it must be allowed to come forth. It seems like this lesson might be a summary of all the other teachings and for me, perhaps the most scary. In order to do this I must give up being perfect, maintain a perspective, try not to mix too many colors and
TRUST that I have done enough. Will I like what emerges?
Maybe, maybe not. If I don't like it I can always turn the paper over and start again.
