This week I did something I haven't done in years. I painted (and actually finished) a painting. And although I'm sure I'll look back and realize how poor of a job I did, today when I look at it I'm actually really, really proud of it.
And beyond that, I simply loved how it felt to paint again.
I've always felt a deep connection with art. I come from a family full of drawers, painters, potters, carvers, writers, musicians... Think of something creative, and there's someone in my family that's likely mastered it. But I've always held myself back. I mean, I was creative at every opportunity, but I never believed in myself. I've always seen so much more talent in my family than in me...and to this day I'm still so intimated by their talent.
But I got to thinking... Most of them have been doing art their whole lives, they didn't make a business of it or even become successful at it over night. They applied themselves, spending hours a day dedicating their time to their craft.
I had a strong urge to watercolor. I honestly had no idea what I was doing. When I was younger my aunt taught me some about it, and I'm sure I learned more about it in the dozen of art courses I took though out my schooling, but sitting their with a blank paper, a coffee mug filled with water, and my new paints, I felt clueless. But I absolutely loved it once the brush hit the paper, I loved the freedom of it. I loved how you could manipulate every curve and edge of paint even after it had dried. I just kept adding color and water until it became something I was happy with...
I decided then that art was something I wanted to again make a priority. And I have been, I've been crafting more, drawing more, painting...and I've honestly felt more like myself than I have in a long time...
I found I could say things with color and shapes that I
couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for.
- Georgia O'Keeffe -
With love, S.
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