Creativity

My mother was always trying to encourage our creativity. "Let's draw," she offered one rainy afternoon. The three of us sat around the kitchen table, quiet and thoughtful, pencils dashing madly about our pages with ideas. My brother was always the stronger artist. He takes after my mother that way. I remember looking over to see his beautiful portrait of the bowl of fruit in the center of the table, the lines curved just so, the shading immaculate. I looked over at my mother's portrait of our cat, Jasper. A few strokes of her hand, and there he was, alarmingly lifelike and perfect, created from nothing. I cannot remember what I drew, but I remember feeling that heavy pit in my stomach of disappointment and jealousy. Why couldn't I do that?

I took two music classes in high school and therefore had no room in my schedule for art. It saddened me not to be able to do it all, but knowing I lacked talent anyway, I didn't fret too much about it. I had enough on my plate at the time. Art slipped away from me. I have not attempted to draw since middle school, have not dragged a paint soaked brush against a canvas, have not immersed my hands into the softness of clay. I have not felt that drive to create.

In my early teens, I took to making scrapbooks of celebrities. I would strip the pages of magazines my mother bought and cut each one out to fill the large blank pages of my scrapbook. They would fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces, each edge lined to another in just the right way. I liked the way it felt to cover those pages in faces, to produce something unique, to create something from nothing, just as my mother had done. I liked the way it made me feel artistic, despite the absence of any intrinsic ability. Eventually those pages became the wallpaper in my room.

I awoke this morning feeling inspired. I decided to sort through some of my collections of things -- cards, ticket stubs, photos, notes, articles and ads I have saved. At the bottom of everything, I found a sketch pad I had bought years ago and forgotten about. I decided it was time to put it to use, and so I began to cut and arrange and glue things onto those blank pages. I began to fill it with things I love, with pieces of myself. I began to create something from nothing.

About an hour into it, I realized that I was creating art. I realized that art, like life itself, is not so much about the destination as it is about the journey. It was so cathartic, combing through these little fragments of beauty I have collected along my path, combining them together, seeing a reflection of myself grow upon the page. I realized that art is a means of healing. It is a means of expression. It is a means of learning to love what we are capable of creating. I realized that having no real talent doesn't mean that I can't still participate.

Three days ago, I discovered etsy. It's been around forever. Most of my blogger friends use it, write about it, share pieces of themselves on it. I am only just now finding my way there.

I am so grateful to have opened its doors. I love the way it offers up this space to create, to connect, to inspire each of us to release the artist within ourselves. I love the way people have responded to its challenge to dig fearlessly into the depths of our souls and bring to the surface these tangible pieces of what we unearth there. I love the results of these searches, the way so many have found bright colors, wise words, beautiful pictures somewhere inside, the way they have so courageously brought them into being. I love what is being created here.

Using some birthday money, I bought myself this and this and this from Madelyn. And because she is a generous, beautiful soul, she offered to send me this as well. I am so eternally grateful. I am so in love with these pictures.

It surprised me to feel so connected to these photographs, to this art, to something I know so little about. It surprised me to discover that even if nothing tangible is ever made, even if nothing is created, there is still an artistic soul stirring somewhere deep inside.