Hard to believe that 3 months have passed since I last sat down to ponder my thoughts in writing. When last I wrote, Covid 19 had just infiltrated BC in a big way and we were stripping the shelves of dry goods while heading for the sanctuary’s of our homes. It is interesting to look back and see how quickly lockdown induced isolation became our new normal. We collectively experienced an unprecedented slowing down of the world at large and in our isolation, we were called to find new ways to forge connection.
It seemingly happened overnight and it shocked every molecule of our being that is wired for human contact and connection. Isolation is not a sustainable state for the human psyche. Isolation is the ultimate endurance test for resilience. For some it is a form of mental torment, while for others it is an invitation to dust off a long forgotten project and get to work. I fell into the latter group.
As a child, the one true thing that brought me joy, was to create with my hands. Crafting was an adventure and I loved to draw; it all came easy to me. Art class was the one class that I never skipped in high school and in my heart, I was on the artist’s path. Hearts may have a compass, but paths are not always linear; sometimes paths lead to dead ends and many are loaded with detours.
My path was one of starts, stops, plenty of excuses and a heavy dose of procrastination. Decades ago, I decided that I wanted to become a painter and bought everything I needed to paint in watercolour. Cruising the aisles of my favourite art store, I stocked up on soft, silky brushes, a variety of high end papers and tubes upon tube of delightful watercolour paints. Enamoured with the vibrancy and transparency of the medium, I soon found out that it also came with a HUGE learning curve. Dang! Life was busy, (so I told myself) and all the beautiful supplies soon found their way into the back of the closet.
Every time I brought the paint out of the closet, my creativity would freeze up for fear of ruining the beautiful white of the paper that received the brush strokes. My courage and resolve to paint was not larger than my fear of failure so my artist persona stayed in the closet along with the supplies.
Still, I hungered to be a painter but had no idea how to achieve it. In 2004, I signed up for classes in oil painting and found the medium to be very forgiving. My style began to evolve and courage was bolstered. A shift in mindset steered away from having to produce a masterpiece to just take joy in the act of painting. I was, for the first time, painting without agenda while exploring the boundaries of what oils could do. Yet once again, the artist in me soon found excuses, and the oils found space in the closet next to the watercolours for a “someday” reality.
When Covid came knocking I saw that “someday” had finally arrived. My small apartment quickly transformed into an art studio; I set up my easel and finished an oil painting that had been started many months before.
Proud of my accomplished piece, I shared it on social media and received some lovely kudos from my friends. (My ego loves nothing better than the little red notification badges.)
One of my friends introduced me to a FB group for “artists” and in an intuitive moment, I took a chance and posted the painting to a group which hosts almost 35,000 members! Yikes! But the “likes” soon started pouring in and it was a lovely distraction from all the Covid craziness that was starting to ramp up in my world.
The members of the group were so generous in praise and I attentively replied to each comment throughout the morning expressing my gratitude for their appreciation. And then the veil fully lifted; my little distraction became real. A women from Milan Italy posted:
I live in Milan Italy, which is like being in hell. Your painting is healing my pain. Thank you.
FUCK. Covid just became real. I experienced full body tears. I could feel her pain. We spent the morning in dialogue. My heart broke open.
Safe in my little BC bubble, I could no longer deny Covid’s existence or the seriousness of the pandemic. “We are all in this together” is not just an intellectual exercise; it is reality. WE ARE ALL ONE. In that moment, her world and my world fused. Italy was in the worst period of the pandemic and my random act of posting my art brought her some relief.
I was humbled.
It took a minute but the gravity of the situation brought me to a new connection to myself. Covid aside, life is short. There was no more time for excuses; no more time for procrastination. My inner child knew who she was and the only thing that prevented me from being a “painter” was the fact that I was not actually making time for painting!
I quickly dove into the closet and dug out my cherished watercolours. Stroking the brushes, I lovingly promised them that we would play every day of the pandemic and in that my pan doodle was born.
And in that…connection and healing was taken to a whole new level.
And in that…there is another story to tell…
Stay tuned for part two….. as the Art of Connection gets up close and personal…..
Leave Your Self
When you do things from your soul, you feel a river
moving in you, a joy.
When actions come from another section, the feeling
disappears.
Don’t let others lead you. They may be blind or, worse, vultures.
Reach for the rope of God. And what is that? Putting aside self-will.
Because of willfulness people sit in jail, the trapped bird’s wings are tied,
fish sizzle in the skillet.
The anger of police is willfulness. You’ve seen a magistrate
inflict visible punishment.
Now see the invisible. If you could leave your selfishness, you
would see how you’ve been torturing your soul. We are born and live inside black water in a well.
How could we know what an open field of sunlight is?
Don’t insist on going where you think you want to go. Ask the way to the spring. Your living pieces will form a harmony.
There is a moving palace that floats in the air with balconies and clear water flowing through, infinity everywhere, yet contained under a single tent.
~Rumi
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