12 Secrets of highly creative Women: Secret 4 Surrender aka Sweet Release

Well, I had a few goals, this week, to show up to my artist table, to try something out of my comfort zone and to get to know you ladies of 12 Secrets. I was exhausted from the hospital stay with my Gram at the end of last week (more than I knew,) and I was in car accident Thurs (no injuries to speak of, a little sore, but too big of a crunch to be thrilled about) – however I'm happy to say I hope I know a few of you bit more than I did.

I started at 7 am and it is now 2pm. I’ve read profiles & posts, and seen and felt creativity that inspires and evokes. I truthfully realized how much I enjoyed the essences of the souls I was reading, pouring through your own secrets to discover the best of what makes you work, the similarities of anxiety, but also the understanding of the growth and garnishment it brings to life, the appreciation for the cycles. The beauty drew me in. Half way through I was almost saturated, but something clicked and kicked in-- after the act of drinking water and stepping outside for a deep breath and a pause, something bigger than I had known before when communicating in cyberspace -- I don’t know what filled me – a oneness, a absolute connection to not necessarily personalities but your souls and then it became fluid; It felt like a creation of art in and of itself. The reading and breathing in of the collective essences.

There was also the general theme that I don’t want to reiterate the same answers to the questions that most of us feel the same on. Your thoughts/mine reminded me in part of Virginia Woolfs’ '"A Room of One's Own." Her reasons for her lectures at a couple of colleges made into the book she explained by saying, "I wanted to encourage the young women- they seem to get fearfully depressed."

This subject of voids is hard one to not get slightly disheartened at because we are, after all, talking about the dark side, though educational in it's own way; our human body, mind, emotions, can betray us in a most fearful fashion and is not exactly fun to explore or revisit, but explore we must. It was very liberating to know my thoughts were mirrored, but at the same time found expression in new words that I could bring to my life, that would support me and silence, or least bring down to a low murmur, the purple people eater on occasion!

I liked one comment that was made that the fear wasn’t the dark place, but that one doesn’t know when it ends, or if it will. I have to remember when I’m there that it is not unending and reluctantly acquiesce. A bowing and surrender. The sweet release that brings peace and new beginnings.

There is also a comment made by Woolf, “what remains over when the skin of the day has been cast into the hedge…what is left of past time and of our loves and hates.” This is my surrender, my peace, my love, and my empty vessel ready to be filled again. In the book Michelle Casou says, “To be creative means becoming more familiar with being a little lost. If we are always full of what we want to do, there is no room for the new.” A perfect pearl there.

I am finally familiar with being lost – it doesn’t scare me, my own voice doesn’t scare me and other’s voices don’t either. Marilu Henner once said something along the lines of, “it’s how you deal with Plan B.” It’s the resiliency factor for me. It’s not saying survivor, but thrive.

Eternally in love with humanity
Forever grateful for this day and this community
And honored by being in your presence
Namaste

Week 3!

Catching up here and almost there, so this will be short and sweet. I must say I enjoyed the story in this chapter on Rosette and her clay shrinking journey. I couldn't help of think of my husband's and I endeavors to stop concrete from cracking -- Our business pours concrete cart paths on golf courses and one of my first jobs, besides the books and getting up at 3 am was to spray cure on the concrete to stop it from cracking, also watering the subgrade to stop it from sucking the moisture out of the drying concrete.

Because of this chapter and a few hints from fellow blogger experimenting with Beeswax I tried again. I also played with all the new art supplies I had recently received. That Glass Bead gel is absolutely awesome. Adding turquoise to it and laying down on the canvas and watching it look like it was turning into a piece of glass was magical! I loved it. Tried the pumice gel as well, a magazine transfer all on this little 4X4. I found myself wanting to work bigger, to work 3 dimensional, Goddess Doll's or emotion dolls type statue things --something, even though the piece isn't exactly balanced, it opened up the creative imagination! Which considering when I layed down my first two pieces of paper and kept telling myself this really isn't that good, but I sure am having fun! I love the little girl feel of playing and just looking at my piece outside in the sun all day, jsut sparkling. It just felt like I can just keep going, it will be alright.

Namaste

It Needed to Bee

..... don't have a name for it, or why the images provoked such emotion from me.
After two months away from actually doing anything artistic on the page, I did struggle today. My brain had to remember how to think -- the intuition was there, but the images did not come together easy and the balance feels off...and meticously cutting that string of bee's taught me to remember patience when working.

Serendipitously though, the woman evoked the idea of Source, Divine and then the background of angel feathers turned upside down came -- and then stuck --

However, believe it or not, a Bee found it's way all the way into my study/art area and kept buzzing...I was ignoring it, vaguely aware that a frickin bee got in the house and the back door must be open. That lovely damn Bee was insistent! I don't think I've heard a louder bee. Then my brain clicked to the images of the bee line all connected to the hive I had seen earlier in a magazine, so I spoke to the Bee, "Thanks buddy -- gotcha!" When I came back from getting the magazine the Bee was gone. Thank you Muses!

12 Secrets II

and these guys and this very sacred place for me in the Chiricuahuas.

Dearest Gram

I wrote this a year and a half ago -- she still asks for her tea -- .


I went to the nursing home, never understanding why

the old and the infirm are fractured in time,
interned in umber days,
last thread.

Life's crosswind never lost, never having felt sorry
for herself, she sits perched, compliant and alert,
speaking of days when she and sister eyed pairs
of shoes, in Gimbal's store window,
on the way back from the bullet factory,
during World War Two.

Persevering, I pull out the clothing catalogs
and we vicariously shop.
She picks outfits and tailored pieces with taste and panache.
Never missing a beat, she has still got class.
Cultured from a time when she attended society
benefits, all night cocktail parties,
and drank 'till they were smashed.

The Smirnoff vodka, just a look at the vermouth,
a CC and water, maybe a Camel to boot.
Canasta and arguments
long into the night.
My brother and I never slept till light.

She asks where those days are
and is grandpa still alive?
To break her heart all over again,
I simply lie. She wonders about
my father, her two brothers and three sisters,
I hesitate briefly, but never tell her they died.

She outlasted them all playing musical chairs,
she won the game and can still see them standing
around while she sits and waits to lose.

The blue medal prize is living,
ruminating in the yarn of what went before,
in a home shared by others, too late
to control their destinies and body functions.
Lasting pride to cover the shame.

I look all around me; please give me some hope,
that she won't be afraid; that I won't be afraid,
and don't let her fall again, please orderly be her friend.

I kiss her soft cheek and look into her eyes,
I promise a day or two and she mocks surprise.
We share a laugh, then picking up my things
I memorize once more, her beauty and light.

I walk by Station 2 to remind them,
she would like her afternoon tea,
one sugar, please.

12 Secrets;Wk2: Paper, Rock, Scissors

So, there it is - Life, summed up in three words. My metaphor for the last two weeks. I almost put in the vault, 'I'm behind and why bother, you are out of the loop', BUT one must cowboy up occasionally -- and the 'other' voice came to the rescue, "It's only a couple of weeks, shit happens, and I'm certainly not going to give up.

PAPER: Ironically I honored my creative me for Chapter Two before knowing that was the assignment. That weekend a girlfriend came from out of town and we went to "The Paper Studio" in Tempe! O my goodness! What a feast for the eye! Let me back up a bit.

First, another artist here--though I forget which one, mentioned 'cloth, paper, scissors' magazine on her blog. At first a I balked at a magazine with sewing or stitching involved, but in my new found willingness to treasure hunt in places that I usually think are fruitless I found a bounty. Thank you to that artist! to the magazine and to me not being an idiot.

In any case, the usual resources are in the back of the magazine and usually Nothing is in the Phoenix area. I mean Portland is a plethora of art resources! But, lo and behold, I see "Paper Studio," and it's in my area. Yay!!

So, there I was with creative friend(friends like that always stimulate new idea's,) surrounded by paper of every kind just wanting to take so much home. Well, I settled on three. One from Italy, the feather one that has a 'all rights reserved' on it, the rustic looking rice paper -- o man, the touch of that one is pure bliss, and the handmade shades of blue on the other -- so wispy to touch. I swear to god, I think I told my friend this place and papers are almost as good as an orgasm!

ROCK: Well, after the friend left and the football game was over and the finances taken care of and the house cleaned and my beginning yoga class, I was ready to settle in and check out my fellow artist online. However, my dearest Gram had other plans for us, and bleary eyed I got in a car Sat to go home after a few nights stay on a couch with her in the hospital. She's hangin in there, but major depression set in for me yesterday and today -- normal-- I'm telling myself, you're tired, that's all.

SCISSORS: The beautiful paper I had bought I unrolled and gazed at for the first few days, loving the beauty, the texture, and even the smell, and I also wondered how in the hell I'd get the guts to actually CUT them! I had to show you guys what they looked like.

Cutting off a couple of squares was exactly what I needed to move into the now. And that is what those papers were waiting for. The second the cuts were done and scanned I was back in business and the pity party was over.

WEEK 2: Sychronicity. The hospital floor I was on had amazing paintings, and also because in all the hours of sitting by myself I started seeing art in every thing in that hospital room. Combinations, color, hues, shadow, light, line, composition. I drew on the wall size white board, borrowing heavily from shari beaubiens' work (but essentially my own spin; adding me and Gram and two peas in a pod) in the "cloth, paper, scissor" May/June 2008 issue I had -- coincidently bought at The Paper Store. (Gotta love the Divine watching out for you when you don't know it.) I also, coincidentally brought my cybershot camera -- god knows why I wondered when I was packing my ditty bag. One early morning, when all had calmed momentarily, I walked the silent halls taking pictures of that guys art at different angles, different pieces of the art, not necessarily the whole picture so I could have ideas to work from on shapes and colors.

I realized I did my art because I couldn't help myself. That's what I do. That is who I am. Week 2 in a nutshell.

To further boost my moral my precious mother lode from Jerry's Artarama had arrived!
The Micaceous Iron Oxide, pumice gel, coarse garnet gel (garnet and turquoise --ooooo, such rich colors!), glass bead gel, and tar gel was here! Play time! Which I plan on doing as soon as a catch up a bit here -- because I've noticed I'm getting a bit cranky not doing it -- can't empty the emotional bank, need deposits.

So, there it is.
Love & Peace to
all out there in
our precious and nurtured
Art Land. :)

Mother Wisdom

Mother Wisdom Speaks

I am gentle.
I am the rain, the letting go.
I am what you surrender and
in surrendering you become what
you let go.
I am your life, your green becoming.
I am the flower and the grass.
I am the rain.
I wash you.
I make you face shine.
I wash away your fear, your hardening.
I am the ground wherein your seed of life waits.
I am the rain.
Release me.

{1rst stanza in the Poem 'Mother Wisdom Speaks' in the book "Circle of Mysteries: The Woman's Rosary Book" by Christin Lore Weber}

12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women

Secret #1: Acknowledging Your Creative Self

Hi there! Color, Line, Texture, Symbol & Metaphor -- need I say more? Well, I'll give it a go.

Five years old, fine brown hair, brown eyes with a hint of amber and life was still a game and one gift changes your life. That was it, I was hooked, forever, for life, since the first day I opened that Crayola box, the feel, the smell, the color and the transformation of a few outlined images into magical meanings of my light; my choices, heady business, that! O god, let's not even go towards the frustration of those silly little ovals of water paints with brushes that hairs mussed up everything and I just wanted something better, thank god for finger paints and play-doh -- And hey there parents: what those little dried balls did to the carpet it did to every kid in America's carpet!

There have been hiccups along way, the world kept spinning and there I was all grown up at college deciding between a Fine Arts Degree or one in Liberal Arts for Art History, taking Design, semesters of ceramics, photography and totally enthralled in the image and symbol of Medieval Cathedral's, Ancient ruins, and at the same time Jungian philosophy, Joseph Campbell's musing...

Then there was that undeniable love of your life, the soulmate, the best friend and well, what can I say, I married him. I helped my husband start a construction business and raised two sons and became a caretaker for my Gram suffering from Altzheimers. My mother's axiom: Life's what is happening when you are making other plans. :) true enuf there mom. A few more classes in sculpting, photography and even anthropology squeezed in, a writing career started, and stopped, and started, and.... you get the picture. Dreams of going to the California Institute in Integral Studies, a passion for the beginnings of religion, creations myths. Oh, let us not forget the road less taken -- therapy -- too much, finally learned to listen to my own voice, then the big one: (cue:Twilight Zone music) Empty Nest!

There was one of those really bad years, the ones that suck you dry and your constantly pissed at yourself for not being Mother Teresa, but it comes out in the form of depression or irrational bouts of anger. Well, spirit found me through my dreams and urgently requested that I watercolor. I baulked. You see, I do not draw, not at all, not even a little bit. I'm also one who does not remember dreams so having a Mandala dream along with the watercolor ones was an omen. I'd be an idiot not to pay attention. By about now I was seriously agoraphobic/bipolar screwed with out knowing it and near break down, but my son was going to the Art Supply store on xmas break for his supplies and I went with him and asked the girl there what I needed to watercolor. She told me water color was hard, but I didn't care about results: I was told from on high to water color! So she kindly lead me around explaining paper weight and quality and I acquired some decent stuff and a book. I was given "The Tao of Watercolor" and probably 150.00 in supplies. This small act opened the floodgates. Art Therapy before I knew it existed.

Because I had no expectations of anything artistically good coming out of my daily creations I was free in a way I had never been before. (I must admit, I was pretty upset when I couldn't color within the lines in those coloring books all those years ago.) Everyday I created something new, I played with washes, I re-learned terms, the color wheel, perspective. I still wasn't a painter per-se, but it was great! Every brush stroke, every color, blend, line, was a surprise, a gift until one day I actually purposely created a piece with a path leading out to the distant hills, a slight breeze ruffling the grass, a broken split-rail fence trailing next to the path, a few clouds. And just as abruptly as it started, 3 months later it stopped. Oh, but that memory is still so strong.

That was three years ago. I wobbled with what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Felt like a jack of all trades and master of none. No degree to boot. Took another ceramic class -- anything that had access to a kiln -- but I wasn't a potter, I liked to sculpt and this particular teacher focused on the wheel. I do like the wheel, it's just conjures up so many romantic movies - "Ghost" anyone? But one day when I when I was near finished with my sculpted, fairly large, turtle shell it occurred to me to cut a hole in the middle of the shell and put that gauzy mask like thing from my latest facial at the Spa visit through the middle, 1/2 the face sticking out. Symbolic of my emergence mental illness, slowly beginning to face the world again. But growing older sometimes makes you hesitant of chances and if it wasn't for the encouragement of a young woman and guy to go for it I'm not sure I would have taken my carving tool to that perfect turtle shell and deliberately cut a big a*# hole in the middle of it! Finished firing, glazing and re-firing it, brought it home and went to town with paint, polymer clay (liked playing with that!) feather, leather and beads made from polymer clay and some stuff from the desert. Wow! Coolness!

So, "Claiming my artistic self as a woman became the path to healing and recreating my life." For me; for real, as I imagine it is for most of us as I've read those who have gone before me.

I've got much to learn, but there is always is with creating and I found SoulCollage which is helping contain the urgent feeling I have to go every which direction! Focus, one step at a time. Awesome, fantastic! It took me a while to get here, but it is right where I'm supposed to be. I do not doubt at all, I'm taking this all the way, more of this journey, lordie, what a trip!

I'm so glad there is so many of us doing this -- like my boys would say -- Epic!

Loving your heart,
Cyn