How to follow your soul.

Just last night, I shared with my art journal students that I can’t figure out why yellow is such an integral part of my pages. I’d estimate that 60% of the pages are prominently yellow. I don’t yet know why this is the case, especially since I’ve known purple and blue and red as favorite colors. And now it’s so yellow.

I used this example to help my students see that we will often find ourselves drawn to forms of expression that we can’t quite figure out. It’s important to pay attention to what we’re doing in our art journals when no one else is looking. When no one else’s expectations come on us. These are signs and roadmarkers to where we really want to be.

We often travel through life using someone else’s map. We do what we think we’re “supposed” to do. This is ok. This is what it means to be a responsible adult, right? But responsible adults also know their own unique role in society. They are self-aware and show up for the task they have been born to do.

And sometimes, what we’re born to do and what we’re “supposed” to do are in conflict.

Through art journaling, I have the opportunity to hold a mirror-like page before my students, and ever so subtly ask them, “What do you see?”

Most of them are a bit surprised, and even pleased, with what’s on the page. But we work hard to create an environment of free and unfiltered self expression in the class. I encourage them not to question themselves in their paint choices, word choices, image choices. Why is this important? Because, when we open ourselves up to true expression, we will find that our hearts speak louder than a whisper. They speak clearly. We just need to give them a place to speak. And when we really stop and listen, we will hear things that our souls have been trying to say for so long. We will know ourselves more deeply than before, and we’ll do a much better job of following and caring for our own souls.

Steward your story.

I’m working on telling a significant part of my story. And, in writing out certain moments and dialogs, I’ve found myself wishing I’d lived them differently. Wishing for more wit. For more color. For more bravery.

In reflecting and writing about this period of my life, I’m keenly aware of how I’m choosing to live out the rest of it—the todays and tomorrows of my story. I’m starting to live my “now” with a bit more wit and color and bravery. I can’t rewrite the past, but I can have a serious say in how today and tomorrow will be written.

I don’t know if you’ve ever taken a hard look at pivotal moments of your life, but it’s a great exercise is self awareness. I’d recommend it to anyone.

Because, at the end of those tough chapters, when the plot has reached its resolution, you will see that your “ever after” really is more happy than you thought.

If you were asked to write about a pivotal, life-changing season of your life, which one would you choose?

At the potter’s house.

I intended to spend the afternoon with fingers on keyboard, but she said that a group of women were having a creative weekend retreat and they were all headed to her house after lunch.

The potter’s house.

The potter, who spends time teaching me how to collage and make books and journals and breathe like an artist. Who let’s me take home a 30-something-year-old National Geographic if I want to cut it into artful pieces.

The potter. She calls me “kid.” I like that.

Maybe it’s because she also teaches me how to “play” as an artist —to explore different avenues of creativity. And now I’m exploring and I’m trying not to burst with excitement when we “play.” She doesn’t know it, but I’m wide open right now.

Or maybe she does know it. She asked me to bring what I’ve been working on, because she needed some inspiration. How did she know I was working on something? So I grabbed my art journal on the way out that morning, and I tried to act like it was no big deal when I sat down at her art table in her sunny art room and she said “ok, what’d ya bring?” and I pulled out my art journal and started flipping through the pages and telling her how I did all of it.

And then we made books. (I know, right? How cool is that?!)

And then she asked what I was doing for the afternoon. And that’s when she invited me to spend the afternoon with the big girls on the retreat.

The writing could wait. I’d already decided to receive every creative opportunity she handed me.

I returned to her house around 2pm. Introductions, hand shakes, hugs. The ladies were gluing pages to their 2012 journals, prepping them for words and photographs and memories and introspections. The room was quiet, but the energy was grand.

I took my seat at the table. And she said “OH! You have to show them your art journal!”

Inhale.

Did she know this meant bearing my soul to these women? These creative divas from all over the state who just gathered together here to reflect for the weekend? Um. Show them my art journal? Show them?

I acted like this was no big deal. I reached down in my bag and carefully pulled out my “Making Space” journal. What was I going to say?

“Well, they call this an ‘altered book’ — it’s just a book about interior decor that I found at a local thrift store.”

I open the book: “I taped each seam and coated each page with gesso, but you can still see the words and images. It’s so much better than staring at a blank page. It gives me something to start with.”

Ok, time to turn the page to what I’ve actually created.

That’s when I start flipping fast.

“I use a two-fold for each day. Art image on the right page, and words and thoughts from the day on the left page. They always match up somehow.”

And flip. Flip. Flip.

And they oooh.

And the potter says “Don’t you just love that?! It’s just loose! It’s so loose!!” And she smiles and shakes her arms and shoulders like she’s a rag-doll and I feel like I’ve accomplished something even though I’m not really sure what “loose” means because I could dissect and explain the intention of every smudge and splatter and upside down word that I placed on that page.

And I smile back and slide the book back down in my bag and take a deep breath.

The kid, playing Show And Tell for the grownups.

Or, the artist showing other artists the secret world of her own inspiration and creation.

Stuff Yourself…

Quote

“If you stuff yourself full of poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines and music… you will automatically explode every morning like Old Faithful. I have never had a dry period in my life because I feed myself well.” Ray Bradbury, who’s written a LOT of books.

Could this somehow possibly miraculously be true?

Life begging for art.

We have a saying around the church office that goes something like: Life begging for structure, not structure begging for life.

We use this phrase when we are facing necessary innovation, struggling to come up with structure as we see the craziness of life that comes with, well, people.

But let’s not dig too deeply into that.

The whole point is that I’m also seeing moments where life is begging for art. Where profundity sneaks up on us and can only be properly captured and properly framed through art.

Just a few weeks ago, in response to Gitz’ decline, Jen commented:  ”I dug out my old prayer book from my Anglican days, and let the most beautifully worded prayers speak the grief and longing of my heart. But I have none of my own.”

In that moment, her heart and emotions begged for art.

Moments like those–the great milemarkers of life and death and growth and memory and significance–need art. They need words and images of beauty to help the soul express what is sitting and stirring and rising inside.

I’m realizing how we, as a people of faith, in our stripped down warehouses of contemporary worship, have lost the beauty and transcendence that those true moments of worship deserve.

And our artists are awkwardly worship and wait in the corners of the sanctuaries, hoping to paint murals on the walls.

Thankfully, they are picking up their paintbrushes. Watch the beauty unfold.