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