I started painting at the ripe old age of 45 (at the urging of a friend who was an artist) after a plaster ceiling fell on my head while I was doing what I loved at the time, which was remodeling houses.
She insisted that I come to her studio/gallery and take a “painting lesson”.
“Bring all of your stuff”, she said. What stuff, I said to myself. So, I did what every new budding artist does. I stole my son’s art kit and took off for my very first lesson.
The first thing she told me to do was to lay out my paints.. HUH? “You’ve never painted before?!” It was more of a statement than a question. Nope. Never. Ever. Except for walls. It was fun…really fun. I couldn’t get enough. I took lessons from many artists that I admired.
I painted animals. I painted landscapes. I painted. I covered miles and miles of canvas.
And then I got an itch to paint abstracts. I didn’t know anything about them. How to proceed…how to paint them….or why I was even drawn to painting abstractly. I figured they would be easy. After all, if an elephant, or a dog, or whatever can paint them….surely I could. Couldn’t I? Or could I?
Turns out, I could. But they were raw….and unfinished. They didn’t tell the stories I had inside me to tell. So, I searched. I studied. I tried things that worked, and I had tons of disasters!
I paint intuitively with my hands…with sponges, with crayons, stencils, with charcoal, alcohol (for the painting, not for me… okay….sometimes for me….one for the painting, one for me!).
I paint after I’ve meditated and gotten in touch with my inner muse.. I paint after I have burnt sage, listened to music, played on the computer, until I can’t stand NOT to paint any more.
Lately, though, I find that the messages that come in with the paintings are just as front and center as the paintings. They come before, during or after I paint, and my muse (or my guides, or whomever!) is/are insistent that I write as much as I paint. One cannot exist without the other.
I’m falling in love with my creative soul…my process, and my value that I bring to this beautiful world. I’m slowly giving up the judgment that I have to be like everyone else, and do things in a “traditional” way, or the way “they” tell me it “should” be done… HA! I find that not only do I not fit into a box, I’m not even aware that it is there anymore!!
I’ve found courage, strength, love and compassion in places I never knew it would come from.
And, as a result…I have a story…I have a story of hope.
That even a small town, conservative, etc. etc. woman, can leave a marriage, because she knew she had/has something to share…And blossom. Blossom and be happier than she ever knew she could be.
And here I am..