Hope

Notice how my makes have gone from varied and grandiose in December to sweet and simple in January? One of January's weekly makes was a crayon drawing. It had been a long time since I've colored. It seemed like I was due. So I picked up my pad of paper and my box of crayons and set out to color something abstract, something to capture how I was feeling. And here it is:


Each color and shape represents something different:
The yellow is a part of a star, signifying the light I so want to be. (You can read more about that here.)
The green is a fern frond, for growth and how I am opening myself to God.
The purple is a flower petal, for the beautiful things I want to make.
The orange is a flame, for the warmth of God.
The copper/brown is a path, leading me to new places and in new directions.
The red is a brick, for the house that I will have someday.
The deep blue/black is a music note, for my realization that whatever new inspirations my life holds, music will be among them.
The blue is a wave for the constancy of change.
The background is signifying my gray skies turning blue.

And the picture is entitled "Hope." At the moment, I can't divulge the epiphanies and the movements that are turning my spirit from despair to hope, but I can say for the first time in a very long time that I am excited about where my life is heading. I can say with confidence that God has good things in store for me. And that is giving me hope.

Roots and Wings

I have a friend named Steve O'Rear. He is magical. There's really no other way to put it. He has an amazing gift of writing pieces that are not only beautiful but also deeply insightful. He is a master wordsmith, people-watcher, friend, artist, immortal soul, who I am honored to know. This year, he sent me a message on my birthday that warrants publication. He gave me permission to post it here because it pertains to my creative process and exactly names its foundational struggle. Enjoy:

For Robin, in celebration of a new year…

Once upon a time, there was a stitch.
Appliqué on canvas, a touch of whimsy in a world of function.

"What's that for?" asked Expectation.
"A bag should be practical, with pockets and sturdy lining."

"That's not what I'm making," she replied.
"I changed the pattern."

"You always say things like that," grumbled Expectation.
"But unless you follow the pattern,
the whole thing could fall apart in your hands."

I weighed their words as I examined her bit of craftsmanship. Improvised, but with clear intent. Hand-stitched, full of subtle compromises to the fabric that one never finds in machine work. I always figured it would end up a little more rock and roll, but this made sense, this was just as honest.

Not to say Expectation was without merit. A few hasty stitches were already straining to keep the strap attached, and even she could admit the want of a pocket or two.

Then Fancy stole the bag from my hands and, as she is prone to do, turned the conversation to herself.

"I can't imagine why you bothered to make something so traditional," Fancy moaned. "You had such talent, and I feel this isn't the proper medium for you. I would have done something much more dynamic."

"But you don't sew," argued Expectation. "In fact, you never really make anything. You only gush about unfulfilled dreams."

Quarreling, the two old foes bustled down the lane.
I turned to the seamstress, "Do they come here often?"

"Every day," she smiled, a trifle weary.

"She's wrong, you know. You're making beautiful things in this medium."

But to my praise, she only shrugged. "I changed the pattern."

I came back from time to time, to see her work in wood and ink, in sugar and cream. There was treasure here; defiance to make imperfect art, to speak in broken sentences cause you cannot abide the silence. And only after all these things did I understand.

"I changed the pattern," she had said, and I saw this to be true. It didn't look like a bag at all.

She was stitching happiness, as best she could.


Fondness always, but especially today,
Steve

Leave it up to Steve O'Rear to know exactly what's going on with my soul from over a thousand miles away. The battle between Expectation and Fancy, Tradition and Discovery, Safety and Adventure. Lately, I've been using the terminology "Roots and Wings." My two most deeply defining desires.

Growing up, I always wanted wings. I wanted to see the world, to discover and imagine impossible things. To dream big dreams and see them through to realities. I scoffed at convention, demanded new and exciting adventures. And when they weren't available, I created them for myself. Freedom and life at its fullest. Wings to reach new heights and dream new dreams and create new creations all in the ever-expanding scope of my imagination! Huzzah!

But I know now that that could never be enough. I also want the roots. Living away from home, starting all over again in a place where people have been settled for generations...They still see me as a new comer. I want to stand on a table and shout, "My family owned land in this country before your ancestors even knew about the New World!" Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Some of these folks can trace their lineage back to the Mayflower, which landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620, and my family was granted their land in 1637. But my family has been on that same land ever since. How many people can say that? I never expected to miss those roots, but I do. I want to be settled. I want my life to draw its nourishment from a rich history steeped with tradition.

I probably shouldn't be surprised by this. My family still gives me a hard time about one Thanksgiving when we didn't have cornbread, and I threw a hissy-fit because it was tradition to have cornbread at Thanksgiving. Or there's Christmas Breakfast (a heavenly concoction of vanilla cream cheese stuffed french toast with apricot preserves), which I am appalled that Amy makes on mornings other than Christmas morning...just whenever she wants it!

So even in my creative fashionings and imaginings, I am still bound by expectation. And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. In the midst of a deep desire to break down paradigmical boxes, I still very meticulously cut my pancakes the same way every time. It's who I am. Roots and Wings. Tradition and Discovery. Expectation and Fancy.

I post this here because I am amazed that these traits come out of me in the creative process and that Steve was able to pick up on them from a simple purse. Thank you, Steve, as always, for your incredible insight.
Here is last week's make...another crayon drawing which started out as an idea piece and ended up not quite cool enough to warrant getting out the paints to become a large painting for my newly rearranged kitchen. It has my three most current icons: my favorite doodle tree (Roots), the bird from my purse (Wings), and the rooster from my apron (which I think holds a peaceful balance of domesticity and flight).

I promise that this week will hold something a little more exciting made with more than paper and crayons. I was slightly limited this week by a house-sitting mix-up. I know...excuses, excuses. But really...I received some very exciting, inspirational books and a whole big jar of buttons for my birthday, which I am just itching to play with. So be on the lookout for a new Weekly Invitation to join in the fun!

In the mean time, I'm curious if this whole Roots and Wings thing is universal. Do you experience the conflict of Expectation and Fancy in your creative processes? in every day life? Please do share! :o)

Legitimacy

Last week was a week of indecision. I knew that would come eventually...a week when I would jump from idea to idea, just to reject each one about 7 minutes into brainstorming because I wanted to use that fabric for something else, or I didn't have this tool that I needed...you get the point. So it came down to Saturday. And I hadn't done much of anything...and Twilight came out on DVD...so I was a little stuck. Give into my obsession of the past 4 months and watch Twilight, or follow through on my promise to myself that I would make something? In the end, I decided to do both.

Every day, I go on Etsy for a little bit of inspiration. The other day I found this:
Love love love it. I love the thickness of the paint, the contrasting colors, the simplicity of the design. What I did not love was that it was being sold in the $200+ range. And it's been sold since I found it less than a week ago. (Do you see this, Megan? This would probably take you what...an hour or so? You should never ever worry about money, dearest. Pick up a paintbrush!) Anyway, I decided that I didn't need to spend that much money and that I wouldn't like to have a 4 painting series anyway, so I set out to make my own triptych.

By the time I decided to do this, I was already home for the night, having gone out and bought Twilight. Now that the movie was in my possession, I was not willing to head back out for canvases and oil paint. So I improvised. I popped the movie into the DVD player, sent Jason into the other room to work on his sermon for the next morning, and sat down in front of the TV with a sketchbook and a big 120 count box of crayons. I picked my palette and started drawing circles. I covered every exposed bit of white. I spent about an hour on each one, which sounds like a lot of time, but it didn't feel like it when I was keeping company with vampires. Here was the result:
(Disclaimer: I apologize for the poor quality of this picture...the glass of the frames is really reflective, so it posed a challenge. You get the idea.)
I now have them hanging in my office, a little splash of color on the wall that shares the door. I put them there so I wouldn't have to explain them to my passing coworkers. I feel like they're kind of silly. I love crayons because I have them and because I don't have the slightest hesitation about using them. Fabric runs out, and then what if I can't find that pattern again? I hoard it until I can find a project that is just right for it, and even then, I cut it with just a bit of sadness and regret. Paint is kind of expensive. And I don't know what to do with it really, so I feel like it's always a waste. But crayons...they are a cheap and unlimited resource. And I feel absolutely no guilt of spending three hours worth of crayon on a silly little triptych. But when it comes to the end result, it's hard for me to give it credibility. It's hard for me to consider crayons as a legitimate medium for "art." Doodles? Yes. Sketches for planning projects? Absolutely. But Art? To be framed and hung on a wall? To masquerade in place of works done by legitimate artists with legitimate media?

But in the end, I'm pretty sure that how I feel with a crayon in my hand is what this little venture is all about. Freedom, empowerment, license to create, to loose the shackles of legitimacy and simply to make. So there it is, my little triptych, and my little challenge to you to make something silly, to take joy in picking up a box of crayons or some popsicle sticks or whatever other medium you have abandoned to the hands of children. And remember how it feels to create something and to have it hung on the refrigerator and to know that you are an artist.

Week 2: Shaking Off the Boxes

For my second week of my Weekly Make, I was in Disney World. Which was awesome. Magic and inspiration were everywhere. But my time and supplies for making were limited. So this week lead to a make that was not quite so impressive or useful as a purse. But this little endeavor isn't about making impressive things. It's about being disciplined in creative action and doing something without so much worry about the result or what you're going to do with the result. So what I had with me was a new sketch set that I got at Barnes & Noble. I've been meaning to make one rather than buy one--I have this really sweet idea for another messenger bag with slots sewn in for pencils and a special pocket for a sketch book--but like so many other issues I have with making stuff, my vision far exceeds my skill and my discipline. I over-complicate the project, and I hardly ever even start let alone finish. So rather than waiting around until I actually could put in the hours to make my perfect little vision, I went out and bought a sketch set. And this is the sketch I sketched in it while waiting in the airport on Valentine's Day:
To you, this might just seem like a silly little sketch. And it is. It's Jason and me sitting on a stump. He's reading Greek, and I'm reading Twilight. Clearly, a silly little sketch. But for me, this marks a major milestone. Growing up in a family of 3 girls, in order to avoid sibling rivalry, each of us had our own little category. Amy was the pretty one. Megan was the talented one. And I was the smart one. This little system extended into extra-curriculars, too. For instance, Amy and Megan did babysitting, so I didn't. (And now, incidentally, I have no idea what to do with a baby.) I started taking art lessons, but then Megan started taking art lessons, and she was amazing. So I stopped. I let her have her thing. I didn't even doodle! As it turns out, Amy and Megan didn't ascribe to the system nearly so much as I did. Maybe it was because I was the youngest, seeking out some solid identity in the shadow of 2 amazing sisters who went before me. When I got into Wheaton and I could no longer be the smart one, I started to identify myself in other ways. The one I clung to the tightest was songwriting, and for a long time, that was my medium for my creative outlet, therapy, and self-definition.

I haven't given up on songwriting, but it's harder now. It's been bundled up with a lot of baggage, and it doesn't hold the healing it once held. So I'm looking to other creative media. And that has been difficult. Because drawing is Megan's thing. And all other craftiness is Amy's thing. And then there's my mom who can do everything (although she was never boxed up in my little system...mostly because I want to be just like her and feel no guilt in being a shameless little copy-cat).

To make a very long story just a little shorter, the point of this post is that this little sketch marks a turning point in my creative permission. I will never be an artist like Megan is. I will never be able to match her perfect skill for portraits and shadowing and realism. But I can and will pick up a few colored pencils and draw. Even if it's silly. Even if it ends up looking terrible. I will allow myself to take the vision from my imagination and express it on paper, and I will silence the voices in my head that say, "It's not worth it because it will never look as good as you imagined." To those voices, I say, "It is worth it. Because if it stays in my head, I'll just lose it. And vision not quite realized is still better than vision lost, vision wasted." No more wasted vision. I'm letting myself experiment. I'm shaking off the boxes. And it feels like fresh air in my lungs.

Here's another drawing I did a few weeks later while Jason was watching Lord of the Rings or something. Rather than requesting that we put something else on and ending up watching something that neither of us really want to watch, I grabbed a sketch book and my box of crayons and I set out to draw a Tiger that we saw in Disney World. Well, the tiger ended up looking more like a wolf, so I figured I might as well throw Little Red Riding Hood into the mix (because she's so trendy on etsy right now). Here's what I came up with:
I'm a little happier with how this one turned out. It took on a life of its own and told me what it wanted to be. It was a fun little exercise in losing myself to the creative process, free from all of the existential ponderings of what this says about my creative abilities or lack thereof.

So how about you? What is holding you back from silly little sketches? or picking up a paint brush or some knitting needles? Give yourself permission to try something new this week. Give yourself permission to make something silly. And have a little fun!