There’s gray area between day-to-day mundanities and the child-like enthusiasm from our pasts that used to light us on fire.
If you scroll all the way back to my first post… from 2014… it’s a black and white sketch of a child that states
“the creative adult is the child who survived.”
I do think that there’s space between when we were young and wild and when the world began to place it’s burdens on us. We become results. We want to produce. The only way that we feel fulfilled is through this production and how much can be squeezed into one day. Fill that to-do list and get it all over with.
We forget to breathe.
Are we really?
It tells you that creativity is a hobby and you should feel ashamed to take up space in it.
The word IRS seems to blur that golden energy of my inner child who only saw sunshine and rainbows and splashes of paint through rose-colored glasses.
”Awwww… look at her new hobby - she’s always so lost in those paints.”
”Oooh is she okay… she is a bit quiet and always in her own little world.”
”What is she going to school for?” cue the eye roll
”What is it that you do exactly… Ooh you’re an artist.” cue the confused, blank yet mindful glare.
I still tend to see these fears creeping up on me when confronted with questions or triggers from the past.
Not being taken seriously as a woman and especially a woman in the fine arts. I digress…… ANYWAYS
Today feels like the day.
The first day that I have chosen to satisfy her.
To sit with that inner voice on these concrete floors and stare up at the blank white walls with the same child-like wonderment and excitement from years ago - when I was laying on a blanket in my backyard staring at the blades of grass and mud and glaring up into the tree branches where it felt like nothing bad could ever happen. I didn’t quite know what “bad” entailed or that there were other things going on beyond that hill.
I’ve painted on my bed, on my parent’s dining room table, on the floor, on walls and now here.
Each place possessing a different meaning and energy altogether.
I never knew that staring into an empty white wall with my easel could bring me this much hope.
The girl in the last photo is beaming right now.
She is an artist.
I try to approach life from that same child-like lens.
It may lead you to disappointment, heartache and failure, but I’m convinced there’s no better way to approach it.
Follow that fire that’s always been in you, in whatever capacity.
She’s there.