Evolution of a vision
One of my desires for this year was to find something creative and fun. Although writing is my go-to creative outlet, it’s often related to my work or a means of self-discovery. I wanted to engage in something just for me that didn’t have an agenda and that I wouldn’t care whether it was any good.
I have never been terribly inclined toward or adept at the graphic arts. I’m not even much of a doodler, even in the most boring of meetings. However, two beautiful souls, Michelle Wells and Rae Serafina Barker, inspired me to get my art on. In January, I participated in Rae’s five-day creativity challenge in hopes of inspiration. On Day 2, she included a meditation for visualizing your creative energy in which I envisioned a sunstar, bright and sparkly, pulsing and radiating outward in all directions from my heart center. It was a really striking image and one I wanted to capture.
I went back to the only art expression I ever enjoyed, something my mom taught me as a child, melting crayons on aluminum foil that’s been heated on a warming tray. What I always loved about this medium is its abstract nature because I suck at realism. For someone who is a rule follower by nature, I don’t want my art to have to look like anything. Even as a professional baker, I preferred simple and rustic to detail-oriented perfection.
With a very clear image in my mind, I went about creating my sunstar. I made a half dozen attempts over a week or so, experimenting with colors, layers, temperature, and pressure. The first couple of tries were definite no’s but, as I started to lighten up and subtract elements, the image became clearer and closer to what I envisioned until I finally got it just right—not the image per se but the energy I felt when I first envisioned the image.
“Today I let go of struggle and am eager to learn through joy.”
I learned a lot while reacquainting myself with the magic of melted crayon.
When I tried using more than a couple colors as well as more pressure to transfer the image, I didn’t get the effect I expected. Instead of getting more depth, texture, and visual interest, the picture became muddy and lacked clarity and definition. Also, using more colors took away space for the main image. However, the more I subtracted—color, pressure, and time—the clearer the image became.
As I worked on fulfilling my vision, I realized the vision is me. With each iteration, I am creating the me I want to be.
I don’t need more of anything to make myself more interesting or attractive. I shine most brightly when I stand on my own. In fact, the more layers I add to myself based on what I think will appeal to others only succeeds in dimming my brilliance. (The old “less is more” lesson … again.)
Another important lesson I learned through this process is to claim the space. For most of my life, I got the message in one or another to play small and not call attention to myself. In my life, this translated in me taking up as little space as possible while helping others claim their space.
This creative experience taught me not just to take up space but to be the space. Be the space I want to reflect in the world around me—illuminating, expansive, and life giving.
Simply by opening a box of crayons, I have been reminded how much you can learn through play. It was only by embarking on this seemingly trivial pursuit that I accessed my inner wisdom. I had to take the action in order to reap the insight, and I did it all in fun.
