If I’d waited to know who I was or what I was about before I started “being creative,” well, I’d still be sitting around trying to figure myself out instead of making things. In my experience, it’s in the act of making things and doing our work that we figure out who we are. ~ Austin Kleon
The lovely Sara, who inspires and supports over at A Sharing Connection, once mentioned in a comment that she hoped I’d keep painting, after reading something I’d written about painting, either this post or the extract below; she never said which.
I surprised myself by doing a wee bit of painting last week. I’d offered to give my daughter some tips for capturing her features quickly in the self portrait part of her art exam, but I ended up inspired, transfixed, longing to do some ‘proper’ painting of my own again. Here’s the first eye I’ve ever painted; my daughter’s so beautiful, I could paint her all day long! The universe has a canny knack of nudging us with synchronicity, of healing us by reuniting us with our deepest desires to create and share something with love, whether it’s a meal or a beautifully decorated table, a painting, a patch of garden or a piece of poetry or music.
Today I found myself wanting to share the sea-twinkle in my daughter’s eyes. When I master the technology, I’ll post a clip of her singing. Her voice is as warm, clear and sparkling as her eyes.
When I was clearing out, I found two of my old paintings and remembered telling Sara that I’d maybe post photos of them someday. Both were painted at a tiny table in my first studio flat in Greece; they’re just copies of ripped out calendar photos, postcards or photos from magazines – I can’t even remember now – but I do remember vividly how I was feeling as I painted them. It gave me a sense of home – of Scottish skies, dreich days and damp green winds….
…and the fresh excitement of a soul homecoming, of an inspiring new life lived by the sea.
I’m at a real crossroads right now, lurching between my deeply held belief that it’s OK to simply journal fragments of my life, to keep a weblog, a journal of days, and the realisation that with several hundred million blogs out there, I’m just adding to cyberclutter. But I’m comforting myself with the thought that quiet creativity and the sharing of those fragments keeps me real, keeps me authentic while I’m piecing myself together.