Make Space, Make Art

Confession: There's one room in my house I never finished moving into-- uhem... a year and a half ago. Oh, I by turns made it presentable when I had to, but it's never been my space.  (Which is a shame because the space was intended to be my sanctuary-- a beachy themed room with the loveliest light blue walls where I would write and think deep thoughts and create. Maybe even do yoga if I felt extra rowdy.) There were boxes I never unpacked, and the things I wanted were not where I could easily access them. And lately, in effort to keep other parts of my house clean (or to get it company ready), it's become a storage facility for stuff I didn't have time to deal with.  It was always a project for "one day".

Today was finally the day, courtesy of an unexpected snow-in.  Well, that... and a fierce need to be creative. I was an artist in my pre-preacher life.  Not in a professional way, though I entertained the notion for a little while.  But in a way that I saw things in a creative way, with big bold colors and strokes of inspired imagination.  I painted and drew and took pictures and designed a quilt or two.  I wrote.  But somehow, over the last few years, I've blocked that piece of me off.  I've done other things with my time.  I've been sort of remaking myself. I've been intentional about both growing up and growing young.  Those things take a lot of energy I guess.

But the creative energy is resurfacing--and has been clawing to get out for the last few months.  I've longed to paint things with vibrant colors and alive energy.  I've wanted to play with messy and dramatic charcoals.  And to dot myself to death with stipling.  I've wanted to actually print some of the pictures that have been living in my computer for years.  And I want more than ever what I've always wanted: to write.

I made myself a deal.  If I would clean up my blue room, I would allow myself to buy some fun new art supplies.  I'd buy a lamp for my drawing table.  I'd quit telling myself that I'm not creative or that I don't have time for it or that I don't miss it.

So I did it.  I really did it. I cleaned the room-- and threw away tons of stuff that had just never been dealt with, or things that no longer suited me.  I cleared away clutter on my shelves and desk. For the first time in years,  I opened my art bins. I sorted markers and gathered up the cheap pens I'd never use for any serious writing. I threw away brushed that I hadn't taken care of, or ones that just didn't feel right in my hands. I threw away the dried up paints.  I repurposed a seven drawer thingy and put all my supplies where I could easily access them. And I made a list of what I needed to buy and what I wanted.  A box of fun will be arriving on Monday.

  I did a lot of saying goodbye today
-- to energy sucking stuff, to various pictures of who I've been, to things that had "so much potential", to a feeling of dread at knowing I had such a task ahead of me.  But in the saying goodbye, I made space for me. Who I am now, and who I still want to become.  I made space for breathing.  I've made space for art, and mess, and capturing beauty and life.

God said, "Let there be brightly colored paints"

I'm pretty sure that's somewhere in Genesis, while God was creating all sorts of delightful things. Why else would God have spent so much time describing the amazing birds and landscapes and oceans, if we weren't to use them as models for things to draw and paint and write about?

I've had a need to paint lately...almost as strong as the need that often holds me captive--to play with words. Something in my soul has needed again to feel a paintbrush, to create something vibrant and life-filled, to use big bold colors and potentially even bolder brush strokes. My "safe" color-pencils, though often a medium of choice, weren't cutting it. Pastels seemed too limiting. Pen and Ink felt too heavy to hold the subject with any integrity. The only thing that would do is a big canvas and super bold oil paints. Nevermind that I haven't painted at all since the two random pictures I did in seminary.

I spent the morning with my sketch, and did the color blocking for a painting that I hope to love. But that's the thing with oil. If I don't love it, I can paint over it or blend it into something else. Or if I really don't love it, I can pretty much scrape the whole thing away. But even if I don't love the finished product, even if I can't get the paintbrush to convey the emotions I'm feeling, I LOVED the process. I'm only beginning, but I felt so free as I was watching the strokes take shape in front of me.

And I loved the types of Oil Paint--the kind that thins with water. No nasty turpentine, no hours spent cleaning brushes, no reeking for two days, no long drying times. Every thing I didn't love about oils is gone. Now I can just paint without all the hassle. Where was that when I was doing a lot of painting?

As DH is in his busy, workaholic season, I'm glad to have something just for me. I can be nerdy and play classical music and leave the windows open. I can create the scenes that have only been visible to my mind's eye.

Lookout, boring eggshell walls. You may be next!