Tag Archives: painting

Art Salvation


Allowing my creativity to flow
without making a big deal about it…
No pressure, not trying to impress anyone,
just trying to save my own life
through color, texture, and the freedom
to bring my inner world outside
where it can dance, breathe,
and be painted into being.
I never knew that such simplicity
could yield salvation,
but here I sit feeling grateful
to have another day
to pick up my pen, my brush,
and remember the voice
that quietly speaks within me.

Happy May Day!



Spring is alive and well, and the memory of winter is finally growing dim and blurry.  Tulips swaying in the breeze, vibrant splashes of pink, white, red, and yellow glowing against the backdrop of emerald green grass and azure blue sky. Everything is alive, and my heart is dancing.

I hear birds singing merrily, and with this beautiful cacophony, I don’t mind so much when a neighbor drives up blasting his rap music with his buzzing broken bass speakers–it’s only more music to add to the symphony of sound that is this life.

Peering into the heart of the tulip

I might continue with the poetry posts; something was freed in me during NaPoWriMo, and even though I heard the inner critic say, “This isn’t very good,” every time I set about writing a poem, I’ve become so used to this voice by now that it isn’t a surprise and it doesn’t keep me from just going through with the act of creation.  And the most important part is this:  It may not be very good, but it’s mine, it came from me–and there is something to say for that.  I have spent way too much of my life not trusting my creative impulses, and I am happy to see the inner dancer, inner poet, inner artist, inner musician arise and take flight from time to time.

I see that there are little moments where I can just create.  I don’t have to wait.  I don’t have to believe the story that I need a three hour window of uninterrupted time to set about writing or painting a sweet little watercolor doodle.  I don’t need to wait, because it doesn’t take very long to get a bowl of water, some brushes, my paints, and a piece of watercolor paper, to set these out on the table, to sit my butt in the chair, and just do it.  I can take my paints and brushes and paper and water now, right now, to my table, even with my daughter running around, or my son throwing a tantrum…I’m learning that motherhood doesn’t mean the sacrifice of all creative endeavors–it means that the moments when I make creativity happen are even more special, even more concentrated.

Colorful tulips

I’m looking forward to letting the creative juices flow, like the rivulets of rainwater that rain through our lawn, like the stream of clouds in the sky ocean, like the threads of birdsong woven through the trees.  This act of creation can be as natural as breathing in and out…and I ask myself, “Why have I waited so long?”  I guess the answer is, “Because you weren’t ready until now.” And now that this moment has arrived, and I am determined to let my heart magic pour out upon the page in myriad colors, I know that I will not turn back to that sad, scared, claustrophobic place ever again.  Just like May arrives on this day, full of light and hope and life and promise, so does my inner light arrive to laugh and sing and dance and celebrate this present moment.

Yellow Broom

A Poem for May 1st
(Invocation for All Beings to Create) 

Now is the time to create!
Now is the time to sing!
Now is the time to laugh and dance and be happy.
Now is the time to say YES to this life
and all that it offers, all of it.
Now is the time to know
that the world needs to see
the very best that is within you,
the spark of divinity that is in all of us.
Now is the time to share your greatest talents,
your most precious gifts.
Let them flow in ever widening spirals,
that our heart flames may join
and burn more brightly together.
We are waiting to be lifted by your offerings.
Let us see them.
Let us taste them.
Let us hear them.
Let us smell and touch and revel and know
the beauty that is uniquely you.
Just do it.
Now, now, now!

Happy May Day!

Star of Bethlehem

IMG_0223 Vibrant colors



I question how much I should disclose in this public cyber space, but I reason that if my experience resonates with just one other person out there, and they realize that they aren’t the only one feeling what they’re feeling, then it’s worth it for me to share.

I feel lonely as hell today. Lonely in my role as mother to two young children who need me to get their basic needs met. Lonely with a mountain of laundry, meals to prepare, floors to sweep, toys to pick up. All I really want to do is lay down, curl in a ball, hibernate this day away, and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I don’t have that luxury, what with the kids needing to eat occasionally and all.

This lump forming in my throat is all the unexpressed sadness I’ve felt for a while but to which I have given no outlet. Who am I beyond the roles and responsibilities I fulfill in the outer world? Who am I beyond my function? If I am only mother, teacher, and wife, what happens when these roles are taken from me? Will I cease to exist?

I have a creative spark in me that longs to shine out into the world. I want to express ME. But so often I find myself folding laundry, picking up toys, preparing yet another meal–and I seem to be operating under the belief that to do these things requires a sacrifice of the self that wants to create. By the end of the day there isn’t much energy left in me to do anything besides meditate and go to bed. The creative spark recedes back into the folds of my deep dark consciousness and waits again.

Over time, noticing the things I’ve put on hold–knitting, painting, music, climbing, sewing, hiking, dancing, writing–I begin to feel angry, and then depressed. No time for me. No time for what I want.

This would be the moment, when I feel this way, that I would normally reach out to a friend. Some sympathetic ear that would reassure me that this won’t last forever, things will change, the kids will get bigger and more self-sufficient, I’ll have more time to pursue my interests. The friend would say something goofy to make me laugh, and my internal pressure would be eased, maybe even relieved completely.

But today is a day when I have not one friend. No friends. None. All of my girlfriends have moved away, and over time, nothing–not even Facebook or texts or even an occasional phone call–can help to bridge the distance and the ensuing awkwardness that arises when we realize that we really don’t know each other anymore. Not in the way that we used to. Why would I call my my former best girlfriends, who have moved out of state and have since formed new groups of best girlfriends, out of the blue to dump on them about how depressed I feel? Not cool. I would have to call them more regularly, find out how they are doing, establish a stronger phone friendship, before I’d feel comfortable believing that they’d even want to hear a single word about my misery.

Where does that leave me? Lonely as hell, with a mountain of laundry, kids to care for, toys to pick up, floors to sweep meals to prepare. Better get my nose to the grindstone…