Art of the body

How does one prepare for the day when a surgeon will cut off a piece of what makes one a woman?

I've been thinking a lot about bodies lately. Christine intrigued me with her choice of "embody" as her word for the year. And then Leah invited us to focus on the body as our creative muse this month. So since the beginning of the month I've been contemplating how I wanted to incorporate "body" into my creativity. I was full of ideas and just needed the time to play with them.

Then the envelope came in the mail. The envelope that held the letter that says in simple Times New Roman font, as though it were no more important than my daughter's next soccer practice, that my breast reduction surgery has been booked for March. Gulp. Suddenly all creative ideas were blocked and all I could think of was "I'm going to lose a piece of what makes me a woman."

Don't get me wrong - I really want this surgery. I chose it. I'm so tired of the aching back, the carvings in my shoulders, the sore ribs from impossible under-wires, the impossibility of finding double H bras for less than my mortgage payment, the shirts that never fit, the near earthquake that's caused when I try to jog - all of it. I want it to be over.

But that doesn't mean it's not complicated. It took me a long, long time to come to this decision, and I won't back down now, but there are so many mixed emotions that play tricks with one's mind. All of those memories of the babies I've nursed, the pleasure I've shared with my husband, the aching fullness of unused milk when the baby who was meant to nurse has left this earth - they're all wrapped up in my identity, my shape as a woman.

And then there is the message I'm sending to my daughters. Is it okay for me to have plastic surgery, when I want to encourage them to value their bodies and not let media images dictate how they view what they see in the mirror? I would be lying if I didn't admit to myself that at least part of the reason for this decision is about my own complicated body image.

Tonight I finally had time to disappear into my studio for awhile to play with paint, ideas, memories, heartache... and breasts.

I started with a few of those images that surround us - the perfect bodies with the perfect breasts. No, those aren't the only reasons for this choice, but I have to at least acknowledge them and let them be a part of the picture. And the truth is, not even those women in the magazine ads are completely content when they look in the mirror.

As I prepare for this journey, I will try to acknowledge the hope and the hurt, the beauty and the ugly, the truth and the lies I tell myself. I know that I will be changed in more ways than one.

P.S. I had thought I'd be a little more private about this journey, but for some reason, I feel compelled to share it here. I know that you, my kind readers, will hold these words gently in your hearts as you have so often done when I've been vulnerable. If you're interested, I first wrote about it here, when I went for my original consultation with the surgeon.

Drawing Class (so far)

Week #2 - perspective...

Week #3 - still life with charcoal...

And I am a happy, happy girl!

Getting through the week

First it was the weariness from five days away (some of which included a fairly intense staff retreat). Then it was the scrambling energy it took to start filling a small role in response to the Haiti disaster (communicating, responding to donors & media, issuing appeals, looking for appropriate images, writing web text and ad copy, etc., etc.). Add the ups and downs of the ongoing drama of motherhood and management. Throw in two very different (mostly good) pieces of news that are potentially life-changing and that carried me into an odd introspective space. (No, I'm not prepared to talk about them here yet - maybe later.) Add a few complicated relationships. Top it all off with a major screw-up in which I totally overlooked a presentation I was supposed to give (ugh). And there you have it - the week that was.

Now you know why I was mostly silent last week and will probably continue to be much of this week. There are only so many balls a woman can keep in the air without dropping a few of the rubber ones.

But then there was last night. Last night, for a few precious moments, I managed to put all the balls away on a shelf and walk away. The house was fairly quiet, and other than the laundry that needed to be shifted from washer to dryer to folding table, and a mostly-content seven-year-old who flitted in and out for a little mommy-love now and then, I didn't have a lot of demands on my time. So I disappeared into my little studio and soon I was lost in a drawing that had begun to emerge at last week's class.

It's a row of small fishing sheds lined up on a dock with a couple of fishing boats in the foreground - meant to teach about perspective. Follow the lines to the vanishing point to determine the angle of rooflines, dock edges, etc. Lots of little details and extensive use of a ruler for all those doors, roofs, windows, and wooden siding. It's not the kind of art work I would normally be drawn into (I get a little bored with symmetry), but oh my, was it zen-like! Soon those heavy thoughts were disappearing right along with those lines on the way to the vanishing point.

Though I recognize the value of meditation, and I've tried it several times in various iterations, it just hasn't been something I've been able to fully adopt into my life. Too many monkeys playing around in my mind, I suppose.

That was before I discovered the meditative quality of art.  A paintbrush or pencil in my hand, and suddenly I'm a zen master!

Learning to draw

Last night I started my drawing class. At the Winnipeg Art Gallery, no less - a place for SERIOUS artists. (My last class was through the local community centre, so this is me "kickin' it up a notch!") I'm so excited. My teacher is just the right mix of down-to-earth, approachable, relaxed, wise, and seriously talented. I know I'm going to enjoy soaking in her wisdom. We spent last night learning about shading with cross-hatching and smudged charcoal - playing with light.

This is what I wrote in my journal on the bus ride home. "My first drawing class is over. Loved it! Oh yes I did! Teacher, looking over my shoulder, said 'you have a great sense of light!' Woohoo! Light! I am elated! Let the light shine on me! And may I recognize the value of the shadows for the way they bring out the light."

Yup, I was just like Maddie coming home from her art class - silly and imaginative and just plain giddy. I didn't tell goofy stories like she does (not sure my bus-mates would have appreciated it), but I'm sure I was grinning all the way home.

This morning, in honour of my desire to "bask in pleasure" just like a kid, I want to share a blessing from one of my favourite books:

For the Artist at the Start of Day

May morning be astir with the harvest of night;
Your mind quickening to the eros of a new question,
Your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse
That cut right through the surface to a source.

May this be a morning of innocent beginning,
When the gift within you slips clear
Of the sticky web of the personal
With its hurt and its hauntings,
And fixed fortress corners,

A Morning when you become a pure vessel
For what wants to ascend from silence,

May your imagination know
The grace of perfect danger,

To reach beyond imitation,
And the wheel of repetition,

Deep into the call of all
The unfinished and unsolved

Until the veil of the unknown yields
And something original begins
To stir toward your senses
And grow stronger in your heart

In order to come to birth
In a clean line of form,
That claims from time
A rhythm not yet heard,
That calls space to
A different shape.

May it be its own force field
And dwell uniquely
Between the heart and the light

To surprise the hungry eye
By how deftly it fits
About its secret loss.

~ John O'Donohue ~

Still burning

A few days ago, I let Maddie drag me out of the house to see the Olympic flame as it passed through our city. It was my first day back to work and I really didn't relish the thought of leaving my warm cocoon again in the evening, but I just didn't think it was right to extinquish the enthusiasm of a 7 year old child who'll probably only have one chance to see the flame in her lifetime.

In the end, I was glad we went. We didn't get there in time to see it arrive at the Forks, but it was burning brightly in a fairly large torch on the stage where performers were putting on a concert.

At the end of the festivities, the flame was passed from the large torch to a very small enclosed lantern where they keep it burning through the night. It was just a tiny flame, but it was still THE Olympic flame. The next day, it would burn brightly again as it continued its journey toward the coast.

As I stood there watching them shrink the flame and then extinquish the large torch, a sudden epiphany visited me. That flame is just like me. Sometimes I'm burning brightly for everyone around to see, and then sometimes I have just a tiny flame burning inside me, nearly invisible to the naked eye. The beauty of the moment was the recognition that that small flame still holds within it the capacity to burn fiercely and powerfully.

Lately I've been going through one of those "tiny flame" periods. There are moments when there seems to be no more passion, no more inspiration, and no more energy. No more fuel for my fire. It's not just a "January blahs" thing this time around. It's a "something happened that makes the future seem dark again" kind of thing.

But seeing that flame reminded me that it's still burning deep inside me. I just have to wait for it to be refueled and then it will shine again.

This morning, after having a conversation with a good friend over a chai latte, and then reading the article that my friend Darrah passed on, I had another epiphany. I am letting the shadow of this difficult situation cloud the future and I am forgetting to focus on that tiny speck of light that still burns within me (and within the people around me). I am also forgetthing that I have some control over what fuels my flame and do not have to wait for external forces to fuel it for me. But at the same time... I don't NEED to burn brightly all the time - some times low flame times are crucial for helping me refuel and prepare for the times when I am called on to burn brightly.

As Pema Chodron says in the article linked above, sometimes we take the shifts of our emotional weather too personally. Sometimes we let ourselves believe that our current experience is how it IS instead of remembering that things are always shifting and changing.

A few days ago, I wrote this on Twitter: "I'm in one of those moods where I can flip-flop between 'life is beautiful' and 'life sucks' in mere seconds."

Today I wrote: "Every day gives us another opportunity to rise above the things that dragged us down the day before."

What about you? Where is YOUR olympic flame these days?

Art (almost) every day

Well, Art Every Day Month is over in just a few hours.  I wasn't fully successful at creating art every day - life got in the way a few too many times - but I made an effort, and that's good enough for me.

This afternoon, I showed a friend the "Strength of her hands" painting, and he marveled at how I find the time - with a demanding career (that involves travel), three active children (who like it when I show up for volleyball games, soccer games, and band concerts as often as possible), and all the other things that need to be done like housework, laundry, grocery shopping, etc. - to paint and write.

There are a few answers to that question. For one thing, I do as little housework as possible, and (sadly) it shows. Marcel does a fair bit (because he's home more than I am), and the girls are old enough to contribute, but we've grown used to living with "good enough" when it comes to housework.

For another thing, I find snippets of time when I can - while I'm doing laundry (it helps that my studio is right next to the laundry room, so I can sneak in there), when the youngest (and most demanding of my energy) member of the household is asleep, etc. - and I make do with that. Since I travel, I bank time now and then, and occasionally take a day all to myself when I can get longer periods for more concentrated work. The TV holds very little temptation for me, so most of my leisure time is spent with a book, a computer, or a paint brush.

This month, one of the things that worked for me was that I included Maddie in the fun.  She loves nothing more than to "do art with Mom", so she and I often disappear into the studio for some art fun after supper. She's getting old enough now that she can get absorbed in a project and not need constant care and attention from me, so it's working fairly well to do parallel projects with her (or sometimes we do joint projects).

The truth is, I know myself well enough to know that if I don't find at least a little time for creative activity, I'll go stir crazy. The longer I've been away from a creative project, the more I start getting agitated and grumpy and the people around me suffer. So it's best to find the time (even just 15 minutes here and there make a difference) and everyone in the household ends up happier.

I'm grateful to people like Leah who inspire us to try to be creative every day. Thanks Leah!

******
A few other art-related tidbits...

• Bailey, you can scratch "The War of Art" off your wish list, because your prize copy will be in your mailbox soon (along with the piece of art I promised you in return for your contribution to my studio)!
• I've been looking for an opportunity for Nikki to get a little more exposure to the world of fashion design (since she's not able to play sports until at least March), and today I got an email back from a local designer who's willing to have Nikki come into her studio to help out now and then.  Both Nikki and I are kind of excited about this!
• Next week I'm flying to New Brunswick and one of the things I'll be doing is going to an art show and hanging out with the artist.  What fun! I'll post more about that soon.
  

The War of Art - words of wisdom from Steven Pressfield

"Remember our rule of thumb: The more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it." - Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

It's a pretty good sign that you've got a great book in your hands when you can't stand reading it without a pen close by.  The War of Art is one of those books. It's a quick read with lots of wisdom packed into its pages.

Steven Pressfield has been reaching out to bloggers, and I got a chance to lob a few questions his way...

1. I've only read part of the book so far, but in the part I've read, you approach the idea of "life's work" and "resistance" from the perspective of someone who knows his life's work is to write. What about those people who have a lot of creative talents and they're not sure what to focus on for their life's work? What suggestions do you have for them?

Remember that old Lovin' Spoonful song, Heather?

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

To say yes to one and leave the other behind?

It's not often easy, not often kind.

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

It's really hard when one is multi-talented and pulled in multiple directions.  It was easier for me because I can't do much of anything except write.  What I would say is this:

If we find that we're pulled in multiple creative directions--start a business, write a screenplay, move to India and work for the Mother Teresa Foundation--the key question to ask ourselves is, "Which one am I most afraid of?"  Put another way: "Which one elicits the most powerful Resistance?"

I say in The War of Art that Resistance can help us in a weird way in that it can tell us what we have to do.  If Resistance is our enemy (and it is) and if it wants us NOT to tackle Project X, then... 

2. What advice do you have for parents trying to foster creativity in their children? Can we do things to help them grow into adults who give in to resistance less? 

That's a great question.  I'm not a parent so I can only answer theoretically.  One thing I heard once that made a lot of sense to me was on a disk called "An Interview with the Coach," which was an interview of Dan Sullivan of Strategic Coach by Joe Polish of the Genius Network Interview series.  It's worth tracking down, this disk, by logging onto "Strategic Coach" or "Genius Network."

What Dan Sullivan was saying was that our schools don't teach the entrepreneurial mind-set.  And they should.  Instead our schools regiment our children.  They prepare them to be cogs in a machine, to work for organizations, etc.  Nobody teaches us the skills of self-motivation, self-discipline, self-validation that are necessary to succeed as an artist or an entrepreneur or anybody who follows his or her own heart and who values the work for its own sake and for the joy it brings us, rather than just chasing a paycheck.

I think a parent should identify in her own mind the virtues that she'd like to teach her children and then teach them just like she would anything else--i.e., reward them when they appear spontaneously, reinforce them in all ways, talk equal-to-equal to the child about the reasons why these qualities are virtues and why they'll pay off.  And be alert to counter-conditioning, to nip it in the bud or to amplify it in the proper way.  For instance, if your kid is on the football team and the coach is hammering him to work hard, be tough, fight till the bitter end (all good things, in my opinion), amplify this by highlighting for your child the difference between externally-enforced motivation (what the coach is doing) and internally-enforced motivation (what the child will need when he goes out on his own.)

What virtues and what skills am I talking about?  They're the virtues of self-reliance (see the famous essay by Emerson): patience, kindness to oneself, self-motivation, self-discipline, self-validation, generosity toward others, ability to endure hardship, delayed gratification, the talent of listening to one's own heart and trusting one's own intuition. 

3. Do you think the proliferation of blogs and social media networks is fostering more creativity in our culture or less? (ie. Do you think this is offering more writers and artists the opportunity to try out their craft or is it just giving us more opportunity for resistance?) 

Great question, Heather!  To me, the qualities of mind that produce really good work (and also, in my opinion, produce happiness) are focus, concentration, the ability to go deep, and perseverance over time.  Things like Facebook and Twitter promote the exact opposites--shallowness, distractability, short attention spans, etc.

That being said, the one person in ten thousand who starts a blog and really goes deep with it may take the skills that she develops from this pursuit and use them at the next level--starting a business or non-profit, writing a novel, getting a Ph.D.

Note: I've got an extra copy of The War of Art, so if you're interested in it, leave a comment by Monday, Nov. 30 and I'll pick a winner.

The strength of her hands

I like strong hands, especially on a woman.  I'm not one for dainty, perfectly manicured hands. Give me strong work-worn hands with a firm grip over pale wimpy ones any day.

When I was traveling in India and Bangladesh last year, I often found myself captivated by women's hands.  As in most developing countries, the women tend to do the lion's share of the work, especially on the farm.  I've seen women maneuver plows, haul boats ashore, hand-wash their laundry on rocks by the river, cook meals over small household fire pits, carry water in large earthenware jugs, weave baskets, care for children, the sick, and the elderly, pound wheat into flour, carry home the firewood, dig up fresh potatoes, and build their homes out of twigs and mud.  Such strong hands I have seen in so many places!

This weekend I tried to capture some of that strength in my painting.  I haven't done watercolour in a few months, so it was lovely to have some time on Friday to get lost in the paints again.

It turns out hands are really hard to paint. Almost as hard as faces. My first attempts kept looking more like claws than hands.  In the end I was more satisfied with the hands in the bottom two frames than the face in the top.  (The face gave me no end of trouble because I was trying to capture the shadows that were cast on that really sunny day when we met Mina Baidya, the woman with the water jug. It's close, but not quite right.)  I find it interesting that even though these photos were taken in 3 different regions (2 in India and one in Bangladesh), all of the women were wearing the same bracelets.  And all three were wearing beautiful, brilliantly coloured saris even thought it was just an ordinary work day for them.


Note: it's not the best photo of it, since I had to take it inside with the flash. Plus it wasn't on a flat surface, so the top looks a little warped.  If you're interested in seeing the original photos, look here, here, and here. 

I don't know much

I don't know how to be a "real" artist,

but I know that when I push paint around on a canvas, it makes me giddy with anticipation.

 I don't know if I'm a good parent

or if my kids will turn out alright,

but I know that the time I spent with Maddie making a painting (below)

was the best possible use of that half hour I could imagine.

I don't know the "right" way to be religious or to have a relationship with God,

but I know that when I sit quietly in my studio painting,

I feel the presence of the Spirit and sometimes that is enough.

I don't know how things will work out in my life,

or which direction the future will lead me,

but I know that when I immerse myself in creativity - leading, teaching, and doing - I am content.

I don't know how to keep up with all of the demands in my life,

but I know that if I don't find at least a little time for wild and carefree creative play, I go a little crazy.

I don't know how to do so many things - sing, dance, knit, draw -

but I know that when I give myself to the act of creating, I surprise myself again and again.

I don't know if I'll ever have a clean, organized house,

but I know that I will always surround myself with colour and light,

and most days, that feels like it's good enough.

I don't know if I will succeed at creating every day
(especially with a 4 cities in 4 days crazy business trip coming up in the middle)

but I know that I will have fun trying
and I will let "doodling in the margins" count as art.

With some fear and trepidation, I've joined "art every day month".

Five hours

It's amazing what you can accomplish in 5 hours. I've just had the gift of five hours of creative time in my studio. Thanks to my supportive husband and (mostly) understanding kids, I'm trying to carve out 5 hours every morning of the next 2 weeks (before I go back to work) for studio time.

This morning was the first installment and OH MY what a delight! I managed to finish a painting that will be the banner for my new website, do a little writing, take a few pictures, and just get lost in my imagination. Even though it meant getting up at 7:00 a.m. on my holidays, it was SO worth it!

Things are starting to fall together for the fulfillment of my big dream and I'm as giddy as Maddy was when she saw all the friendly comments about her art giveaway. (That girl knows how to BOUNCE!) I can almost taste it, and oh, it tastes good! Yes, the practical truth is that I have to go back to work in a couple of weeks, but that's not stopping me from dreaming about the day (I'm hoping it's by next summer), that I'll have managed to create a big enough space to hold my dreams AND provide enough income that makes quitting my job not too much of a hardship for my family.

It's going to be hard to pull myself out of my studio in 20 minutes (I told my family I'd emerge by noon), but I will be able to do it feeling refreshed and happy.

And speaking of my studio... another package arrived in the mail today - this time from the lovely, talented, incredibly encouraging, big dreamin' rockstar, Jamie Ridler. It's my very own little Jamie-created dreamboard! I think I will get lost in the dreaminess of it - especially the picture at the top that she says is "my book". (Yes, a book is in the works as well as the website!)

Here's Jamie's contribution. Thank you Jamie!
If you're curious about why I'm getting lovely art packages in the mail, you can read about it here. And you can see some of the other pieces here. And if you want to get in on the action, leave a comment or send me an email and I'll send you my mailing address.

What is your calling?

I’ve been thinking about calling lately. A lot of things have been happening to influence this thought process, like reading amazing books, being inspired by the thoughts of others, coming to a growing realization that it may be time for a shift in my own calling, and being gifted with a powerful idea for energizing people in their personal calling.

I’ll be doing more writing about this as I prepare posts for my new website, but for now, I thought I’d write a few random thoughts that are on my mind. (And yes, I know I’m mixing metaphors all the way through, but that’s why I’m calling them “random” as opposed to “polished”.)

Here are some of the things I’ve learned about following your calling and honouring your giftedness.

1. A calling is not a clear or straight path. Sometimes you have to take surprising detours along the way, stumble through a lot of undergrowth, and climb over major obstacles. The remarkable thing about all those obstacles and detours, though, is that once you’ve struggled past them, you can usually look back and recognize the value in them.

2. There may not be any “ultimate destination” in the path to your calling. More often than not, the real calling is to the journey, not the destination. Be faithful in the journey and you’re being faithful to your calling. Don’t beat yourself up if you haven’t mastered “who you were meant to be”.

3. Sometimes, just when you think you’ve found exactly the path you’re meant to be on and you believe that you’re doing just what you’ve been placed on this earth to do, the path will begin to fade or lose its interest. It may be time to shift direction again, or stumble in the dark for awhile until a new path emerges. Open yourself up to new learning, even if it seems scary.

4. On the other hand, there will be some moments when, like Moses, you will see your “burning bush” and know undeniably that you are standing on holy ground. It may be a moment when you accomplish something so remarkable that you know it comes from a higher power than just your own (like Moses parting the Red Sea). It may be a moment when you feel a tingling sensation because you know that something you have been inspired to create is truly good.

5. If you find and follow the wrong path for awhile, your body and soul will begin to tell you it doesn’t feel right. Pay attention to the signs. Are you exhausted? Losing your creative edge? Irritable with your children? Stop and listen.

6. Sometimes waiting patiently is the most important thing you can do. When you’ve discovered you may be on the wrong path (or even if you’ve been on the right path but recognize it’s time to change), it’s important to cut yourself some slack and find time for rest, quiet meditation and prayer before you seek a new direction. Chances are the “wrong path” will end up being the “right path” for that period of time because of the things it was able to teach you.

7. Good people will show up along the path to support you. Trust them and be open to them. When you feel that you lack the capacity and strength to fully accomplish your task, perhaps it means that you’re meant to invite someone else onto the path with you – someone who will bring their own giftedness to make the completed task even more beautiful.

8. Sometimes though, the people who show up won’t believe you’re meant to be on that particular path. They may have your best interests at heart and just don’t want to see you (or those around you) get hurt, or they may feel anger or jealousy toward you because you’ve found something they haven’t. Listen to them, if they have something valuable to say, but don’t let yourself be too swayed by their opinions. Remember that they’re just human – these people do not have greater access to truth than you do.

9. You may need to be willing to give up and let go for the path to become clear again. Sometimes rock bottom is the best place to start a new journey. It will be really hard to reach that place and to truly let go of all of your ambitions and dreams, but when you are willing to open your hand and heart and release whatever you’re hanging onto, a brand new beautiful gift may be placed into your open and empty hand.

10. There may be long stretches of time when life feels more like drudgery and just "getting things done" than following some kind of higher calling. That's okay. Just be. Don't stretch too much or try too hard. Maybe it's just your time to live, to support other people in their calling, to hibernate, or to germinate new seeds that will see growth come Springtime.

Creative Sanctuary - a virtual tour and a request

It all started with an ugly little storage room tucked behind the stairs. Like the ugly duckling though, that little room was destined to transform into a swan. All it took was some hand-me-down carpet, some "leftover from the seventies" fake wood paneling, a little cheap unbleached cotton, an old particle-board desk (from the first year of our marriage), a nearly-broken chair, and some magical shimmery gauzy fabric.

It might not seem like much, but it's a dream come true! I finally have a space of my own where I can create, write, paint, sew, meditate, dream, read, pray, do yoga, and just stare at the ceiling when I feel like it. Want to come for a tour?

Let's start right where I'm sitting right now. It's the "writing/painting/thinking" corner.


Right beside that is the art supply and yoga mat corner.


Above the desk is the "surround myself with creative inspiration from other writers" corner. On the shelf above the books is the Kenyan leadership stick that reminds me to be a bold and courageous leader.


Opposite that is the "dreaming of new possibilities and creating new art" wall.


Above all of that is the best part - the magical, dreamy ceiling! (Yes, I'm sure I'll manage to kill a little time just lying on the floor staring at it.)


One of the things I'm really excited about is that I've also been able to bring in some mementos that remind me of the people who have supported me and helped shape me in this creative journey.

There's the director's chair that my beloved, supportive husband had made for me (back before he was my husband) when I was busy producing one of my first plays at the Fringe Festival. He believed in me then and he still believes in me now.


And there are the two cameras owned by my parents back when they were young and hopeful and looking forward to many long years together. Neither of them would have called themselves artists, and yet they managed to raise four creative children (count them - one, two, three, and four) by teaching us to see beauty in dandelions, frogs, freshly baked bread, sheep, and friendships.


And there's some space set aside for the artwork of my children, who remind me to find joy in dancing in the rain and swimming with your clothes on.


What's missing? Well YOU are, of course! After adding all of those pieces that inspire me, it occurred to me that I'm missing an important section of people who've inspired, encouraged, and cheered me on. Yes, I'm talking about YOU!

Here's the thing... I've saved a space for you...


I've got a bunch of cool swirly clips on a string and I would LOVE to fill that wall with the artwork and little blessings of all of the friends (in person and online) and family who've supported me in this journey. What do you think? Are you in? Would you like to send me a little blessing of some sort? It doesn't need to be much - just a postcard or a card, if that's all you can muster (but I would LOVE some original, creative things meant just for this little space).

If you're in (and EVERYONE is welcome - even the lurkers who don't admit to reading, even the people who've just stumbled on this blog for the first time), let me know in the comments or drop me an email at heatherpl at mts dot net and I'll let you know how you can get it to me. (If you'd rather just send me something electronic that I can print out, that's fine too.) Whatever you create should be approximately 4" x 6" and not too heavy to hang on a string.

What's in it for you? Well, the joy of knowing you've made me happy, of course! But there's more - I'll send you a little something in exchange (that you can hang in your space, or even your bathroom if you prefer). AND I'll give you a chance to be a contributor when I open my new site at www.whatareyougivingaway.com.

Last night, after settling in, I couldn't resist going for a walk to the river just to stare at the full moon. The moonlight reflected on the water, the flickering fireflies in the tall grass, the jumping fish - it all seemed like a special magical blessing from the great creator for all of the things I dream of creating in this lovely space. I hope that you will consider adding your own blessings too!

A new take on "strategic planning"

Have you ever told your staff or volunteer team to grab some scissors and glue and get down on the floor with some old magazines?

If the term "strategic planning" strikes fear in your heart, and yet you've got a team of people you need to lead and you have to figure out where you're going in the future, you might want to try dreamboarding with them. You can find out more about it in my guest post at the amazing Jamie Ridler's blog.

Give it away

As I’ve mentioned in the past, I’m working on this new creative venture that will have, at its heart, a website called www.whatareyougivingaway.com. (I talked a little about the blossoming of the idea here, and showed you some of the early artwork.) Based on my years of doing lots of things including writing/creating, working as a communications professional, facilitating leadership and creativity workshops, teaching sessions on identifying your gifts and personalities, leading a national team of people involved in fundraising, education, and stewardship, (and loving all of those things) I’ve decided to take a big bold step and declare myself a bit of an “expert” on owning your giftedness and figuring out how to share it with the world. (Yikes! Hear that sharp intake of breath? That’s my self-doubt having a mini panic attack at the suggestion that I could possibly be an EXPERT at anything.)

Self-doubt or not, that’s my dream – now I just have to find the time to let it unfold. The whole thing feels like a pretty powerful force right now, so I’m not letting myself doubt that it WILL unfold.

If you’ve been reading for awhile, you’ll know that I’ve been suffering from a bit of burnout and weariness and overwhelmedness (I KNOW it’s not a word, madame spellcheck - but it’s all I can come up with, so deal with it.) It’s partly because this big idea is trying to get born at the WORST possible time – a time when I’ve got some pretty intense things going on in my work life (huge board proposals, staff evaluation time, my own performance evaluation time, new staff positions and subsequent hires, staff handing in their resignation… ALL AT ONCE.) But we all know that ideas, like babies, have this habit of showing up in their OWN SWEET TIME THANK YOU VERY MUCH and messing up all those lovely things like schedules, plans, and SLEEP!

When I have a creative idea, I have this tendency to get all panicky about having to follow up on it RIGHT NOW or it will slip away and I’ll live with regret for the rest of my life. After visiting the labyrinth and my son’s grave, though, I’ve decided that I have to try to be more zen about it and just let it unfold organically, trusting that the right time and space will appear when it is supposed to and babies and ideas grow whether you want them to or not. (Trust me – my first baby is now as tall as me!) (On the other hand, though, sometimes they're not meant to grow - I've had one of those babies - and lots of those ideas - as well.)

As I'm waiting for the right time and space, I’m trying to find ways of feeding the idea and feeding my tired burnt out self at the same time. Playing along with the Wreck this Journal fun has been a great start (especially since I’ve made this great connection with Jamie, who’s such a wonderful generous spirit, I’m dying to meet her). Working on my creative sanctuary and doing some paintings has also helped.

A few days ago, it occurred to me that, with all this burnout and weariness, it’s been a long time since I really practiced spontaneous generosity. I’ve gotten so focused on trying to hold myself together, I didn’t have a lot to give other people (just ask my 7 year old daughter who’s gotten extra clingy in all of this – longing to have her fun attention-giving mom back). Since I’ve worked through the worst of the insanity-inducing time at work, and because I want to start a website about giving stuff away, I decided it was HIGH TIME I got my butt in gear and started being a little more generous.

Yesterday’s beach day was one of the things I’ve done to try to get back on track. Giving my daughter and her friends a day of freedom and fun and the delight of feeling just a little bit naughty for skipping school for a day at the beach was a delightful way to start. (Who said being generous couldn’t benefit ME at the same time?) And a few days ago, at lunch time, I walked to my favourite music store, bought gift certificates for my three locally based staff and gave one to each of them with a note that said “sorry I forget to show appreciation when I’m too busy and stressed out, here’s a little gesture to make up for it”. I also bought a cd for my friend Sam who was visiting from Ethiopia, because he’d heard The Waifs on my mp3 player when I was in Ethiopia and he’d liked them.

Here’s the thing – giving stuff away is SO MUCH FUN! It has lifted my spirits in a delightful, refreshing way. As I continue to work on my website and my creative sanctuary, I’m going to spend some of my time trying to think of other ways of giving away meaningful gifts that lift my spirit as much as the spirit of the receiver of the gifts.

I invite you to join me. Do something spontaneous and generous – buy a friend a book they’ve been talking about. Pay for the coffee of the person behind you in the drive through. Take your staff out for lunch. Or if you have no money – give away your time, your listening ear, your encouragement - you name it! Get creative, give something away today, and come back here and share it with the rest of us.

The wreckage continues

After a couple of weeks of having a stressed out, grouchy mom/wife/me in the house, the whole family needed a bit of a release. I officially declared today "Fun Day" and swore off any work.

What better way to celebrate Fun Day than with a good adventure and some journal-wrecking? Oh boy - are you in for a treat with this video! The girls and I really got down to business this time. Basketball, bike-riding, flying lessons - you never know what might be next!

Jamie, I know you didn't do this just for me, but... seriously? This whole thing could not possibly have come at a better time! Wreckage, creativity, playfulness, release, connecting with other like-minded "wreck-stars"? Turns out it's just what the doctor ordered!

Now sit back, relax, grab a Slurpee, and enjoy!

Stop dabbling. Start doing.

"I didn't know you were a singer-songwriter," I said to my dinner companion after he told me he'd be meeting Vance Gilbert (whom I'd just mentioned) at the upcoming Folk Festival singer-songwriter retreat.

"Welllll..." he hesitated, "I dabble in it."

"Why is it that almost all artists I know don't admit to being artists - they 'just dabble in it'?"

He chuckled. "Okay... so let's try this again... I AM a singer-songwriter."

"Much better," I said.

And then, after telling him about my idea for a web space where "dabblers" can "own their wisdom and share it graciously", I said, "I once taught a creativity workshop, and overwhelmingly, the participants were all yearning for the same thing - permission to create and to call themselves artists."

"Creativity workshop?" he said, his ears perking up. "Tell me more."

And then, because we were both trying to be more bold and own our giftedness, I told him more, and by the end, he'd invited me to teach a day long workshop for his staff. And I went home with that dreamy look on my face.

*******

A few years ago, I wrote this as my personal mission statement:

My mission is to inspire excellence in people, facilitate growth and the discovery of giftedness, and to serve as a catalyst for positive change.

*******

Stay tuned. The bud is beginning to unfold in delightful ways.

Catching fish

There were fish everywhere. One minute the water was calm, reflecting the last rays of sunlight. The next minute the water erupted in a cacophony of glistening silver bodies leaping in the air, searching for freedom. The young men in the water, drawing the net together, grinned as the fish leaped past their faces.

When they’d formed a small circle at the edge of the pond with the net full of fish between them, they began to cull the fish. Only the biggest were good enough for the basket. The smaller ones were allowed to leap to the safety of the pond beyond the net.
Sometimes our ideas are like those little fish – not ready to be caught yet. Sometimes we have to be content to let them slip through our fingers. We’ll catch them the next time we visit the pond, when they’ve had a chance to grow.

I'm not always good at letting them slip away.

Photos taken in Bangladesh, March 2008.

The year of living fearlessly - Chapter 5

I used to visit art supply stores and stand and gaze longingly at the rows and rows of paint tubes and brushes. I've done that for years. I wanted to paint so badly, but it was completely overwhelming for me. I had no idea what brushes to start with (what if I used the wrong one?) or which kind of paint did what (what's the difference between watercolour and acrylic?), and besides, I could barely draw a stick figure, so what made me think I could paint?

Friends would take up painting, and I'd be so jealous, but I never signed up for a course. "I'll probably fail," I told myself. "I'm not very artistic."

That was before my year of living fearlessly. This year, I knew I couldn't let those layers of fear and doubt stand in the way of something I've wanted to do since I was a child. This year, I would paint, even if I accomplished nothing more than a stick figure and a tree that looked like a 6 year old's fingerpainting. This year, I wasn't letting failure stand in my way.

I signed up for a class and started buying supplies. But every time I took my supply list into an art supply store, I got that overwhelming, choking feeling again. What was a #1 brush? Was I supposed to buy the paint in tubes or in little cakes like the kindergarten paints? I bought a few supplies, but put off most of it until the night before the class.

Then the worst happened - the night before the class turned out to be the night OF the class. I'd looked at the dates wrong. I had to rush to the only store within easy driving distance, grab whatever I could find, and show up at class 15 minutes late with only half of my supplies. My heart was in my throat. This was NOT the way to start something this scary!

The first 15 minutes of the class were horrible. Others had already started and I didn't get the instructions right. Plus I had to borrow a few things from my seat mate. If Marcel hadn't dropped me off and left me without a car, I might have packed up and gone home.

But then, when water mixed with paint and paint started hitting paper, a transformation began to unfold. The paper, the paint, the paint brushes - they all took hold of me, lifted me out of myself, and the stress began to seep out of my body drop by drop. How incredibly good the paint brush felt in my hand! How incredibly right! I almost started crying right there in that high school art room. This was what I had been waiting for all these years!



Even though we only painted in monochrome that night, and the result was hardly worth bragging about, I knew that I had fallen in love. For too many years this passion had been waiting for fear to loosen its grip so that it could be born - now it was time to let it see the light of day.

Five classes later (too quickly it passed), we were getting ready for the final class. "Bring in a picture to the second last class," she'd said. "Something that is special to you. You're going to paint your first masterpiece during the final class." I selected a few that I thought I was capable of (some easy landscapes and silhouettes), and threw in the one I really wanted to paint but doubted that I could - one of my favourite photos from Ethiopia. "These are easy," she said, flipping through the top of the pile, "you can paint these." Then she looked at the last one - the special one. "You want to paint that?" she said, a little incredulously. I felt the doubt rise again. Maybe she didn't like it. Maybe she thought I couldn't do it. Oh what was I thinking - of COURSE I can't do it! I nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, I think you could probably do that if you tried hard enough." Really? "You probably won't finish it in one day, and you'll have to do the sketching before the class so you use the time in class well."

Gulp. Was I really going to try? What if I failed? Would I want to come back for another class next session, or would I give up? Maybe I should just do the silhouette of the acacia tree from my Kenya pictures. It was so much easier.

But "easy" wasn't what I'd signed up for. I decided to try regardless of how it scared me. I did the preparation work and showed up at class early this time. I was determined. This was not going to be the end of painting for me. I was not going to let fear hold me back. I was determined, but nervous, and almost positive I would fail.

And then, the minute I touched paintbrush to paper, I entered that zen-like state and got lost in the painting all over again. The hours drifted away while I let the paint carry me. Bit by bit, I watched the art unfold. First grey sky, then the landscape. That was the easy part. Would I be able to paint convincing people? The first one turned out not bad. The second was even better. By the third one, I began to believe that I could actually DO this!

I didn't finish that night, but the next night, while Marcel was away and the girls got to watch a little extra TV, I finished the last piece - the baskets. When I was done, I stepped back and... well, it was GOOD! I had actually painted something I could be proud of!


I have been on cloud nine ever since. Who knew I could paint? Certainly not me!

(If you want to see my progress throughout the classes, you can see all of my attempts in a slideshow here.)

On birth and busy-ness

There have not been alot of words making their way onto my blog lately. The reasons are both simple and complicated. The simple reason is that I'm still crazy busy these days. Most of the busy-ness is work-related, but there have been other things. Like facilitating another leadership workshop, making Halloween costumes, dealing with indoor soccer schedules, and then all those other things that show up unexpectedly. Throw in a little business travel, and I'm just about maxed out.

The complicated reasons aren't so easy to explain. Maybe one of these days I'll come on here and explain a little more about what's going on, but for now let's just say it's a bit of a personal spiritual journey, combined with the birthing of a new creative "baby".

This figurative birthing process has made me reminisce about my literal birthing experiences - the three that resulted in my beautiful daughters, and the one that resulted in my beautiful, though lifeless, son. The memory that's been with me today is that of my coming into motherhood experience.

Nikki had a really difficult entry into this world. I still find myself - nearly a dozen years later - getting a little emotional when I remember the intensity, pain, frustration, worry, seamingly endless agony, and yet ultimate joy of that experience (and a whole lot of emotions in between). It started out with me being induced because a fetal assessment showed (rather incorrectly) that she was a little on the small side and that my fluids were getting low (a week after she was due). Inducement led to hours of waiting for something to happen, followed by nearly 36 hours of labour (there's the "endless" part), three hours of heavy duty pushing, followed by an urgent call to the only obstetrician in the city who could do the necessary procedure to to deliver her without a c-section, lots of tearing and stitches, and then finding out that she had to be rushed away from me to be treated with antibiotics because there was a risk of infection.

When she was finally born, after all those hours of pushing, I had gone almost completely (though thankfully temporarily) blind. It turns out the agony of pushing for that long can mess up the muscles around your eyes so badly your vision gets messed up. They put my baby on my chest, but I had to rely on Marcel's description of her and the touch of my fingers to know anything about how she looked.

Not long afterwards, she was whisked away, and because it was late and we all needed rest, I was returned to my room and Marcel and my mom left the hospital.

The memory that has been clinging to me today has been not so much about the delivery but about what happened later that night. I awoke in the middle of the night and was suddenly filled with the most intense body-aching loneliness I had ever felt. My family had gone, and the baby that had moved in my womb for the last nine months was way down the hall behind nursery room glass. I'd given birth to her, gone through nearly unbearable pain to introduce her to the world, but I didn't even know what she looked like.

My eyesight had returned and I knew I HAD to see her. I knew it with the deepest longing imaginable. But I was in so much pain, I couldn't even figure out how to shuffle my body up in the bed in order to reach the call button to get the nurse.

But there is little that can get in the way of a mother who needs to see her child. I struggled for what seemed like an eternity, but I somehow managed to get my body up off the bed and down the hall. The nurses looked up in amazement as I passed them and entered the nursery. I'm sure there was a rather desparate look in my bloodshot eyes.

I found my baby. And I wept at her loveliness. She looked so tiny and vulnerable, hooked up to all kinds of wires and hoses, lying nearly naked in an incubator. Truly, she was not a beautiful baby - after what she went through to get into the world, it's hardly surprising - but she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I reached out and touched her skin and knew that I had fallen completely and irreversibly in love.

I'm not sure why this is on my mind today, but I'm sure it has something to do with this creative birthing process. Some of it is painful, and it's possible that what comes of it may never "live", but at this point, I have to believe it will be beautiful.

Creativity + Women + Retreat = My Dream

A few years ago, I facilitated an eight week creativity workshop which was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done. For eight wonderful weeks, a group of about 8-10 women came together to get inspired, share the fruits of their labour, encourage each other, find a safe space to create, try new and daring things, get their hands dirty, and discover that they were more gifted than they’d ever thought they were. For most of us (myself included), it felt like an awakening - an un-shackling. It wasn’t about painting the most amazing, critically acclaimed work of art, or writing that great novel that would launch you into stardom, it was more about giving yourself permission to pick up a paint brush or pen or camera or guitar or whatever your tool of choice may be, close the door on the laundry room, and just create to your heart’s content. It was about acknowledging that creativity is as high a calling as any and there is value in the process even without any astounding results. It was about discovering that, despite what our highly productive society too often preaches, creating art just for the sake of enjoying it is NOT a waste of time.

Last week, while I was blog-surfing, I came across a reference to a “creativity retreat”. Something stirred inside of me. It was that old longing again. A longing to go back to that place where women were safe enough to admit their fears of failure and yet encouraged to find the boldness to try anyway. A longing to once again serve as a midwife to other women’s art-babies. A longing to see the tears well up in someone’s eyes when they gave themselves permission to create. A longing to listen to the whispering of the muse and to help other people hear it too. A longing to see the bold yet terrified looks on their faces as they laid the fruits of the labour before the rest of the group.

I have waited nearly five years for the chance to do it again. I’m done with waiting. It’s time to go back to that place. Who wants to come with me?

Here’s what I want to do. I want to set aside an extended weekend (perhaps 3-4 days) where a group of women can escape to a quiet place to be inspired, to cheer each other on, to make art, to tell stories, to sit in silence, to let the tears flow, to laugh with delight, to birth and share their art-babies, to have a-ha moments, to forget about unfinished laundry, to think bold thoughts, and to just be safe for awhile.

I expect that the time-frame for this will be some time in November. Yeah, I know it’s not the BEST time to be at a retreat centre in Manitoba, but hopefully I’ll find somewhere with a cozy fireplace.

I haven’t worked out the details yet, but I thought I would first “cast my bread upon the water” and see if I can find enough interested women to make this worth the effort. Who’s willing to give it a shot? Anyone is welcome (well, any WOMEN anyway – sorry guys), as long as you can get yourself to the Winnipeg vicinity for a few days. You don’t have to be an accomplished artist, you just have to be willing to open that tiny door to the creative space in your brain.

I’m not sure of the cost yet, but I’ll work that out as I put the plans into place. (It’s not a money-making venture, so the costs won’t be astronomical.)

For now, just let me know if you’re interested. No, I’m not promising you’ll be imparted with great wisdom from a creativity guru or accomplished artist, but I can promise you that, if you are willing to share of yourself and open yourself up to new ideas, you will be inspired. I may not be the most qualified “teacher”, but I do believe I have some gifts in “facilitating” creativity and learning. Most of your learning will not come from me but from the other amazing women who choose to offer something of themselves.

Who’s with me? Reply in the comments or send me an email.