I never did anything extraordinary as a child,
But I dreamt about it and I never stopped dreaming.
Erling Cage,
Philosophy for Polar Explorers Have you really paid attention to the sensation of charcoal on paper?
Yes,
Of course,
You've seen it and admired it,
The starkness of its beauty,
That black on white.
Maybe even you've swept it across the pristine surface boldly.
But have you taken the time to really sense it all?
Try it.
The experience will change the way you create.
It has for me.
Before I begin,
I like to take a deep breath to remind myself from my fingertips to my heart,
Through my gut down to my toes,
That I am here.
This is me here now,
In this studio space,
With these materials,
Beckoned as I have been to stand as I am.
This reminder is everything.
Without it,
I'm still here,
Looking the same to the post delivery just now at the door.
But oh,
So different when I've taken this breath of presence.
Sometimes it takes two or three when I'm really there in reluctance,
Fulfilling only the necessary ticking of tasks off the to do list for the day.
After that breath,
Or breaths,
I simply put my hand to paper and let what comes,
Come.
This is not as easy to do as it is to write.
For my mind always wants to trip into the picture and coordinate the moves as if choreography were part of the process.
This has never been the case.
Not at this initial stage anyway.
So it always amuses me to see mind stand there in these first few minutes,
All chest puffed and seemingly in charge.
He thinks himself so full of it all.
I haven't the heart to mention he's not needed here right now.
I let him,
Ego,
Hang out,
Ignoring his preening.
The sensation of the nub of black burned organic onto this soft coarse surface of paper as it resonates at my fingertips is my first joy.
With this first,
I'm lost to more joy.
That of this process I am wrapped once again to realize is my life.
My life.
With that,
Let us begin together.
We are stepping back into childlike wonder.
The place where so long ago exploration and experimentation were all about the joy of delight.
Where there was no known rule,
So anything was possible and play was the only requirement.
Before you is the blank canvas.
Whether paper or cloth,
Board or cardboard,
It is your arena of discovery for right now.
The delight of experimentation will happen here as it might have in your childhood backyard.
The tools you bring to your play are the pencils,
Brushes,
Markers,
Crayons,
Pastels that you call your magic wand.
You are here to wave them across your arena and discover what is there in the dance about to take place.
So draw in that deep breath with me,
If more than one,
And take them all now.
Imagine drawing down the heavens,
The heavens of imagination,
Of new creation,
Of experimentation and discovery into your gut.
Envision this breath.
Envision this breath swirling and rippling through your blood and veins until it tingles into your fingertips.
It is time to begin.
Pick up the first color that calls to you and pure response to the intuitive hit,
Engage with it and create large sweeping marks,
Swirls,
Swipes,
Dance steps across this empty white plane.
Do you feel it?
That first hit of joy?
The rapture of this pure moment of intuitive creation?
This is you.
This is your doing.
This is your soul and spirit singing through your fingertips.
Keep going.
The colors there beckon.
Which is next?
Take it up again on intuition.
Let it,
The gut resonance,
Have the voice now.
Pick up that next color and let it join the dance across the canvas.
Express it thoroughly as it wants to play.
Stop stopping until it slows this play down and you realize it's on to the next.
Look at this creation.
Look at this color and light shining on your canvas.
A surface with nothing just a few moments before now holds so much.
One more time the color calls.
One more harkens to join the dance that's begun.
Pick it up.
Answer its call.
Let it too push and pull,
Swing and sweep across the canvas along with the first.
All joy.
All delight.
All beauty and the creative expressions simply let to play and freedom and wonder.
What joy.
What delight.
Let's add one more.
Just one.
Then we will invite the adult into the room.
How about white?
An assignment this time.
Like an adolescent in school,
You're still yet a child at play but with a small plan to execute and experience as well.
So white.
Light.
Delight.
So we bit into the three colors,
Trining on your playing field.
This canvas before you taking on new hues and tones.
Dancing still yet more with vibrancy and surprise.
What joy.
What delight.
These things can come to us yet,
Adults as we are.
All grown up into the world and full of our experiences,
Knowledge,
Education and intellect.
We can forget that in order for these to do their best work in the world,
All these adult admissions accrued and accomplished,
We must not leave the child behind.
We must be reminded,
Remember,
The child in us was always there,
Eager to experiment again along on this experience so as to bring something new,
Joyful,
Delightful,
Wonderful into the world.
If only across this one canvas on this one day,
Wonder full.
It is a rich remembering we do when we call up this child and ask them to dance with us.
We the adults we are now.
What an honor to get to host her again there in this dance of creation.
Now it is up to you.
Do you hold the hand of this child and together adult and youth use all your resources to complete this creation?
Is the finish of this exploration of the dance together?
Or does it need one to lead and the other maybe to follow?
You decide.
Or better yet,
Let your creation decide.
It will tell you what is needed if you continue to listen with the child's ear and maybe a small portion of the adult's eye.
Enjoy.
This is what we have as we continue to fulfill our place in the world as co-creators and it is a very good thing.
Thank you for coming along in this creative meditation,
This exploration of inviting our child back into our adult world.
It's a wonder I've been exploring myself more and more and I realize is the thing that is right.
Enjoy.
I'm Patricia Baldwin-Sagerbrook.
Thanks for coming along.
