One of the truly sweet things I do with my time these days is attend an art class with my youngest child at our community art centre. The first time we went, all he wanted to do was mix colours. Not interested in painting, he wanted to create colours. And the instructor just went with it. It was glorious. It was magic.
Though I am no stranger to connecting with creative energy, mostly through writing, I don’t consider myself an artist. That said, I have been making art regularly for the past couple of years. At first, the act felt really strange and I was quite tentative. But as I’ve moved through the discomfort, I’ve come to find the whole process incredibly freeing. With my writing, I see something complete, something deliberate. On the occasion I can’t get there, I experience frustration or disappointment. When I make art, I let go and let what comes be. I rarely finish a piece, they are never very good to look at and none of that matters. The process of play and discovery– connection–is what I am seeking.
It’s almost otherworldly to meet the creative spirit anew, welcoming it with no agenda, allowing it. It isn’t about what we make, it is about connecting to openness, the innate knowing. In letting go of the attachment to what we are creating, we create vitality and restore ourselves.
I’ve found freedom in making art. May it always be so. And may my son keep this practice dear, nourishing his own creative spirit, all the days of his life.