These are some of my done or still unfinished art pieces. The small section at the end of my living room that was my studio space has now completely taken over the rest of the room as well as the kitchen, so that when I sit on my couch, not only is my coffee table covered in pens, and drawings, but my shelves are obscured by canvases, poster paper and who knows what else. At times its overwhelming to step into my house and see all this everywhere, but when I sit down with my tea for a moment of pause in my day, I look over at all this and feel like crying and bursting open like some wild flower all at once.
I don't quite know where to start with all this in order to convey here what I'm feeling. I have written before here and in my profile that I have been writing in journals since I learned to write at the age of 4. Granted these journals weren't very wordy at the time, but if I was upset or needing to say something that I couldn't quite verbalize to my mother or someone else at the time, it would go in the cute Hello Kitty journal with a lock. This evolved over the years and I have never stopped writing. Always in journal form, I have never been much of a fiction or story girl, it has grown to incorporate images, collage, drawings, photos and whatever else will enhance the color, texture or emotion of what I am writing. Color for me is as integral to breathing as words are.
I have always dreamed of being an Artist and a Writer. In the back of my mind though grew beliefs that those aspirations were for real Artists and Writers, and that although I could call what I did art and writing, it wasn't Art and Writing. So I went on to do other things, like get a degree in Social Work and later get licensed as a Massage Therapist. Always writing and creating though. For a while a good girlfriend and I made and sold journals and Goddess boxes, and it was a wonderful experience that also seem to fade into the background of life and what I called Work.
I don't want to list anymore what things contributed to my forsaking the calling of my heart for other seemingly more noble pursuits. I just know that it has been quite a long road to get back into this place in me where all of it is possible. Where I am actually spending my evenings and days and weekend allowing my creative soul to dance in any direction it wants, and I am actually envisioning a future where I do this. As in Do This. For a living, for my life, for the world. I am playing, practicing, getting my feet wet again. The trees I keep drawing? Just a fun doodle, they are like my bread crumbs back into that place my soul was meant to dwell in. And even though they are my creative bread crumbs, I put them on Etsy, and they sell! They. Sell.
My heart melts into streams of tears when I feel the gratitude erupting out of me. I was talking about this with Jon a few days ago, and I mentioned to him that I haven't even started yet. This isn't even the beginning, and it feels like the most Sacred Journey Back I have ever encountered.
So, my house being a complete disaster right now? Not being able to see the books on my shelves because of whats in front of them? The extra kitchen counter space that now houses tools, brushes and wrapping supplies? The fact that Chloe found my basket full of hemp twine and decided to weave her own disaster out of them?
Complete, pure, Sacred Bliss.