Shift

I am a navel gazer, a merciless self-hazer, a sensitive blazer, a sharp razor afraid to shave what doesn’t serve me from my tender, aging skin.  

I do this every January. I dedicate some days and nights of this drowsy and bitter cold month to get clear on how I’ll spend the new year upgrading the operating system of my soul, moving a little bit closer to the version I think I’m meant to be; then packaging my fixes in a pocket-size artist’s book I can carry with me for download from any location. 

I have always been upward-heading, skin-shedding, water-treading, coating myself in any breading this corporate world expects of its most promising and successful charges. 

But it’s different this year. I’m considering the plateau I’ve been camping on for several years.  I have always just assumed this would be a weekend stay, a few nights acclimating at base camp, and then onward with my ascent.  But the air is getting thinner at this elevation and circumstances are speaking to me in a language I’ve never heard before, a soft whispered question “what if you just stayed put?”

And so I become a ruthless assessor, an inquisitive professor, an emboldened confessor of everything I ever thought I wanted to do better. 

After dancing around the idea for months, one sleepless night shows me the goals I’ve been working toward aren’t important to me anymore.  Maybe they belong to someone else?  My quest to broaden my interests and invest time in them has sent me on a slow but insistent drift from the now faded umbrella I planted in the sand many years ago.  I’m in a different place now.  

And so I imagine what it might be like to be a tub soaker, a breezy toker, the blessed stoker of the creative fire a higher power ignited decades ago and has waited ever so patiently to see burn brightly. 

I’m going to be better at what matters to me, and care less about what doesn’t. I’m going to consider what and who I give my precious time to.  I’m going to steep in all that brings me joy so I have joy to return to others. I’m going to gather around me all I find beautiful in this world. I’m going to free myself to be me. I’m going to practice gratitude for a life full of abundance and choice. 

I am a stargazer, a herd hazer, a trail blazer, a stinging razor cutting through the great wide open in search of the dark sky where my stars brilliantly shine.  

Restive

The revolution, it stirs ever so quietly within me.  Despite the uneasiness at my core I often don’t realize I’m rebelling as its happening. It’s not until I recount my visceral reaction that it dawns on me.  Phrases like “we’re not doing that” or “over my dead body” spew from my lips. As I consider how I’ll present my objections I’m gripped with fear that the value system my beliefs are pinned upon has been kidnapped without a demand for ransom, our culture and everything I stand for bound and gagged in the trunk of a getaway car speeding off unnoticed by those who should so fiercely protect this stolen treasure.

Is it an overreaction?  Sure, it is.  I ask for some unbiased opinions and it’s suggested I think positively; we don’t have any evidence yet to confirm my mounting suspicions.  I’m also advised to do what I do best:  Engage my adversaries in a shrewd line of questioning to prompt some reflection and to seek understanding.

 

At the end of the day, whatever the outcome, I know this is simply a sign I’ve grown. The fact that I have an opinion about how the situation was handled and feel passionately about being heard tells me so. On the brink of mutiny, that’s when I know I’ve yet again come into bounty.

The poet Mary Oliver passed away this week.  As social media presents to me the many paying homage, I recall her poetry, so lithe and sage; prolific work connecting humans and nature, beckoning us to answer the ceaseless knell to be ourselves.

I feel this uprising more than ever in my artistic life.  Every escape to my studio is another log thrown onto the fire fueling my creative soul. I don’t know if I’m destined to make a living with my art, but I do know for sure I’m meant to make a statement. It’s a calling impossible to ignore.  And I answer in earnest.

“The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”  -- Mary Oliver

Exertion

We’re lying on our yoga mats, inert, after 55 minutes of a low impact, high intensity workout.  This is the part where she tells us to do our favorite stretch, and switches to the soothing music like “Heaven in My Mind,” the song that always makes me cry a little bit. She turns on her voice of inspiration, reminds us that goals are achieved not by dreaming or thinking about them, but by doing.  She asks what action we’re going to take today to bring us one step closer to the goal we have for ourselves.

I’m instantly resuscitated, excited because I have an action I’m taking; a big, bold step I’ve never taken before.  I’m submitting a piece of artwork for consideration for the Resident + Instructor Exhibition at the gallery this month.

 

As I prepare to turn in my piece, thousands of doubts flood my mind.  How will my work compare to everyone else’s?  What if it looks rudimentary?  When I explain what this work is, will anyone understand?  Should I have put the name of the piece in the body of the piece?   Does the framing look professional?  Did I sign my name right?  Will people consider my work to be legitimate art worth showing?  Would anyone ever dream of buying it at the price I’m asking?  Or at any price at all?

I tell myself as I affix a big, fat price tag to my work, that this is a grand experiment.  It’s about having the courage to place value on my creation that is grounded in how much money I’d like to make in return for my investment of time, talent and materials instead of how much I think others will feel it’s worth.  It’s about wanting people to find the medium, the colors, the concept, or the application visually interesting, not whether anyone likes it or hates it.  At the end of the day it’s about putting myself out there.

If we’re moving forward in this life, we’re putting ourselves out there over and over again, countless times in a lifetime.  It never gets any easier for me, especially when it is something as close to my heart as my art is. I rented this studio not just as a place to store my supplies and make art, but to see what could happen when I immersed myself in a vibrant and diverse creative community.  I knew it would be messy for a while and I’d need some time to feel out of my element before I truly feel like I belong.  I’m still not there yet, but this is a step in the right direction, nudging that heaven in my mind out to the world.