Today: Going to Art School last week helped me realized how many of the stories I’ve been carrying around with me just don’t apply anymore. What might you revisit to test whether your old stories are still true?
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When was the last time you were brave in your creative life?
Maybe today you were… or will be.
Our creative lives ask for our courage. In fact, they demand it.
Now, there are days when that’s anything but true, when our creativity shows up like that proverbial lamb, when we’re happily crafting at our kitchen table, when we’re making a special dinner and everything’s turning out just so, when we’re out in our garden enjoying the blooms. I love those days. In fact, I’m smiling just thinking about them.
And then there are other days. The days that are a slog or the days that are a struggle. The times when we just can’t get it to work or make it go. There are hair-pulling, nail-biting, tears-welling days. I’ve had them. Lots of them. If I had a penny for every time I’ve been discouraged or hurt or scared in my creative life, I’d have a veritable field of treasure. I’m just imagining the dragon that would be guarding the inestimable wealth of those piles!
So why do I do it?
I mean, why, why, why put yourself through this torture? Are all of those magazines lying when they show creative life as women laughing together, red rain boots on their feet and yellow balloons in their hands, paint on their fingers and sparkles in their eyes?
It sure doesn’t feel like that when my yarn’s tangling or I can’t hit that note or one more rejection letter arrived in the mail.
It doesn’t feel like that when nobody comes to my blog or my show or my party.
It doesn’t feel like that when I’m frightened half to death of stepping on the stage, sure that I am going to lose my lines and that clearly I look fat in this dress.
If art is so healing then why does it tear us up like this?
Because art is powerful.
Because sometimes being torn up means discovering something important inside.
(And sometimes being torn up means this isn’t the right teacher, the right environment, the right practice. Though sometimes it is.)
Our creative lives grow us.
It’s in the DNA of creativity to grow, to become, to evolve, to unfold, to unfurl. And that takes us again and again and again to our edge. It only stops when we do. And we can. We can pause when it gets too much. We can go outside and look at the stars. We can breathe. We can cry. We can go back to bed. We can pace ourselves.
What we can’t do is deny ourselves. When we stop, full stop, something in us starts to die. Our lives start fading. We start graying out. For a while we may run on the steam we’ve created and then, after a time, we forget that we created at all.
And that’s not okay.
You are meant to grow, to make something, to share something, to say something, to dance something, to believe something. Sometimes there will be balloons and rain boots. And sometimes there will be tears.
But tears don’t get in the way of your creative life.
They are there to remind you that you, my dear creative heart, are not only a frolicking lamb but also a lion.
Today: I’m wrapping up art school this week and I have learned so much, including the importance of claiming the space for learning.
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Today: I’m thinking about what I’d love to accomplish, this week, this month, this season in the midst of kittens, sparkles & art school!
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Attending art school has always been a narrative that flowed alongside my life, particularly the Ontario Collage of Art and Design or OCAD (formerly OCA). When I was in junior high, one of my best friends had a dream of going there. At 14 she was already working on her portfolio. She took me down to The Grange, which was right by the art college and, at the time, was a beautiful little warren of exclusive shops and restaurants worthy of artists and their patrons. When my parents divorced, my mom pursued her artistic aspirations as a part-time student at OCAD, studying everything from sound to colour theory. My aunt went to OCAD. My sister Shannon went to OCAD. And my husband, Justin, went, for a time, to OCAD too.
But I never thought it was something for me. Out of all the arts, the visual arts have been the most intimidating to me, the most rife with art wounds. Over the past decade, I’ve given myself many opportunities for healing. I’ve attended all kinds of art classes, both online and in Toronto. I’ve spent hours art journaling, doodling and playing with drawing and painting. Every Sunday we have Art Day.
I’ve held it all lightly, as lightly as I could, and did my best to create for myself the encouraging environment I’d never been able to find.
This year, I’ve signed up for a class at an art school, not the iconic OCAD but a reputable school nonetheless. I’m doing a week-long immersive in collage – starting Tuesday. I’m so glad that I planned this many months ago when the beginning date was far enough away to be less scary. Now that I’m right on the cusp of the start, I’m committed. The decision has been made. The money has been paid. All that’s left is to go.
As I prepare for this next adventure, I’m so aware of all the stories I have in my heart me about art school and what this course is likely to be like. Here are just a few.
And here’s what I know; those are just stories. Sure, they are stories rooted in past experience but they have no bearing on what next week will be like unless I wash everything in their colour.
But one of the things the kittens are reminding me of is just how unpredictable life’s adventures can be. This is why we creative adventurers benefit so powerfully from our practices, so we develop our muscles for showing up and being present to the moment; and from our projects, which nourish our confidence and grow our capacity; and from our performances, where we learn to trust ourselves to dance with whatever shows up and use it as nourishment for our creative lives.
I wonder which of my stories will be affirmed and which will be obliterated. What I promise myself is that I will enter this art school exploration with an open heart and a curious mind. From there, we’ll see what happens. Wish me luck on the adventure.
