Kat Eye Studio

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Flowers Marking Time (Two Years in Italy)

April brings these lovely flowers to Parco di Monza. They carpet the forest under the trees, and never cease to make me smile. I watch the shoots as they start to push up through last year’s fallen leaves, growing tall and strong. Then the flower stems appear, the buds hinting at what is to come and suddenly, one day, they are all bursting open like fireworks, celebrating spring.

These flowers are a marker of time for me. Two years ago today, I arrived in Italy to start my assignment, and as I took possession of our apartment that first week these flowers were in bloom under the trees. I would drive by the park in those early days, see them and smile. I had the desire to walk under the trees and to capture the beauty of the flowers with my camera, but life was a blur of craziness at the time. Just figuring out where to find items in a grocery store was a major, energy-draining event.

One year ago, as the flowers started to bloom, I was able to capture their beauty. This time last year was an amazing time for me, having made it through that first year and settled comfortably into daily life, I was really moving on my creative journey. I was able to see the world with fresh eyes, to approach my photography with an unrepressed joy. I was discovering and uncovering the creative self, the artist, that had been lurking inside of me all along. The burst of creativity I felt in capturing the images of these flowers last year resulted in the first ever Exploring with a Camera post, From a Flower’s Point of View. You may recognize these flowers in the Exploring with a Camera button and page, they are the symbol of what “exploring” really means to me: coming to the world around us with wide open arms and hearts, and finding absolute joy in what is discovered there.

This week, I went into the park with my camera once again. I wanted to capture the beauty of these flowers, but I wondered how I could possibly top last year. The excitement and joy of that outing, and the love of those images, still stays with me a year later. But as always, my art reveals things about me I wasn’t expecting. With the passing of a year, I have changed and grown. I see differently. While I may have started my outing with the leftover vision of last year’s exploration, what I saw in the flowers this year was new and revealing.

This year, I noticed the shadows.

I discovered the beauty of the flowers, revealed in new way.

I saw the leaves as the canvas upon which light painted flowers.

I completely and utterly lost track of time, I was so engrossed in my exploration of light and shadow. I immersed myself in the rediscovery of these flowers, and along the way, had the sad realization that this is my last year of seeing them bloom. Two years in Italy are gone, a little over two months left. I shed a tear or two, there amongst the flowers, holding my camera.

How can I not be wistful, as I contemplate leaving a place that’s given me so much? I know it’s not Italy itself that has changed me, it has been my response and willingness to take every experience that comes my way, living life to the fullest and seeking growth. As I photographed the shadows of these flowers I realized: Italy is the canvas upon which life has painted me. It is here I learned to look closer, and I discovered myself in the light and shadow.

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Creating Art with your Whole Heart

Yesterday I read a wonderful blog post from Karen Walrond, author of The Beauty of Different. In it, she talks about heartbreak, and a philosophy that comes from another author, Brené Brown. Brené, she says, tells her she can’t be selectively numb. We have to feel both the good and the bad. We need to lead wholehearted lives.

Wholehearted.
Whole hearted.
Whole heart.

I’ve written before about following my heart. The only way I know how to truly create, is from my heart. My best work, whether it’s writing or photography, starts in the heart. It’s a feeling I’ve learned to recognize and follow. Like this morning, with this post. It came from that place of heart.

I didn’t always recognize this feeling or know how to follow it. That has come over time, as I’ve unmuffled the feelings of my heart along my creative journey. You see, in order to avoid facing any pain or darkness in my life, I had numbed myself to the good as well as the bad. It makes so much sense looking back now, that when I was willing to accept both the light and the dark in me, I was also finding and owning my voice as an artist.

We can’t have wholeness without dimension. In art, that means light and shadows on a surface, which create a three dimensional form out of two dimensional shapes. In our lives, that means light and shadows in our soul, which create the depth and dimensions of a person. For our best work, we have to come to our art with a whole heart. In order to do that, we have to come at our lives with a whole heart first. We have to unmuffle the tiny voice inside ourselves, so that we can hear both the good and the bad messages. We have to be willing to accept what we hear, no matter how uncomfortable it may be, so that we can learn from it and bring it to our art.

As I think through this, I’m realizing that living with a whole heart is an important key to claiming your artist. When you claim yourself an artist, you put yourself out in a public way, saying, “Here I am world, look what I create!” You open yourself up to the possibility of criticism or rejection. You open yourself to the bad stuff, the stuff you might want to avoid. In this way, not claiming your artist is a form of self-protection. A way to shield your heart from any pain. But in doing so, your heart is muffled and numbed. You won’t be able to hear the good messages either. Your art and your ability to create your best work will be affected.

Today, take a quick look at the status of your heart. Are you living with a whole heart? Do you allow the dimension that comes from light and shadow? Are you protecting yourself from potential hurt and pain and in the process numbing yourself to your heart’s good messages? If you’re having trouble claiming your artist, maybe this is a good place to start. It’s certainly been an important point for me to ponder, to reaffirm the desire and acceptance of living with a whole heart, because I want to hear that little voice inside that leads me to create from my heart.

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A Decade Later

Today is a big day, in our family. Today is the day that my son Brandon turns ten. Ten years old. A decade of life. I’ve realized of late, if he goes off to college at eighteen, we have less left with him in the house than we’ve already spent. What seems so long at the outset, with all of the sleepless nights and diapers, is really so short, when you’re on the side of looking back.

I shared this image, snapped with my iPod on a neighborhood walk, a couple of weeks ago. It’s stuck in my mind since then, because it visualized how I feel about my son perfectly. He is my heart, outside myself. We are attached and yet separate. He is still smaller than me, but that won’t last long.

He is at the cusp. No longer child, not yet teenager or adult. He doesn’t want physical displays of affection in public yet his body betrays him. His had reaches for mine as we cross the street, his body leans in as I go to hug him, even if his mouth tells me to stop. At this moment, he still wants me, needs me, in his life.

A rare moment last November when he posed for a few photos.

He has grown so independent, in so many ways. There is so much that he does for himself. So much that I trust him with. He takes his responsibilities seriously… when he remembers. I think I’m starting to define what grown up is: It’s when you remember to brush your teeth by yourself. We’re not quite there yet. Talking to parents of other kids his age, it sounds like a common thing.

I have been pondering, at the decade mark, what my role is as a parent. We’ve moved well beyond the point of protecting him from putting his had on the stove or drinking household cleaners. We’ve moved into more intellectual discussions of how to treat his friends, what is happening to his body, how to deal with peer pressure, taking responsibility for his own actions and decisions. And of course, reminders of basic hygeine seems to be a continual thread of conversation.

All in all, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that my role as a parent, a mother, is to help my son be who he is. He’s not becoming the person he was meant to be, he already is that person. It’s my job to make sure he isn’t forced into being something other than he is, especially as we head into the teen years. That he learns to recognize and follow his intuition, his heart. That he doesn’t fall in the trap of living his life for other people’s expectations… mine or anyone else.

It’s a fine line, isn’t it? On the one had, I spend my time reminding him of expectations (Brush your teeth! Pick up your clothes!) and on the other I’m talking about helping him learn to avoid living by the expectations of others. That’s the mine field we’ll have to carefully cross in the teenage years. We’re not quite there yet.

Taking a self-portrait with his Nintendo dsi at a car museum last weekend.

For right now, I just want to bottle this moment and put it in a jar for safekeeping. This smart, quirky, energetic, obsessive, happy-but-sometimes-moody ten-year-old boyness. This beautiful spring morning in Italy, with the birds singing and the trees sprouting leaves, when my son still wants and needs me. This moment when my son will reach for my hand at the crosswalk and say, “Mom, have I told you about…”

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A Different Approach

For several months now, I’ve had a dearth of creative reading. Oh, I’ve been reading a lot, mostly fiction novels. I just haven’t been able to find a book I like for my daily creative reading since I finished Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach at the end of last year. This morning I sat down to read and I find myself with three inspiring books in progress at the moment. It was hard to choose! Times ebb and flow, interests come and go. It’s clearly time for me to focus on creativity again, bring balance to my personal equation, after several months of focusing on primarily on photography.

As I mentioned in my Claim your Artist post the other day, one of the books I’ve started is Julia Cameron’s Vein of Gold, a sequel to The Artist’s Way. She starts out similarly to the The Artist’s Way, introducing her fundamental tools of the Morning Pages, Artist Dates and a few other things. While I have loved her writing and ideas, there is one thing I don’t love about her books: How adamant that she is that you use the tools she gives, in a specific way, on a specific frequency. She’s the teacher, she’s taught this to thousands (maybe millions of people, through her books), she knows it works and that’s the end of the discussion.

But here’s the thing: She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know what works for me, how I think, what I’ve tried in the past. She has a lot to teach me, but it won’t work if it doesn’t fit my style. I know me and I know this: Requiring a task be done on a rigid schedule with rigid guidelines flips me right over into the obsessive achiever part of my personality. The part of me that tracks everything as a number and berates myself when I don’t follow it as instructed. The part of me that will kill the emerging artist at every opportunity.

Through my creative journey I’ve learned I need to try out the tools a teacher provides, and then fit them to me. I’ve made journaling part of my regular practice, but I journal probably 4 to 6 times per week and don’t require a certain length. The requirements of “Morning Pages” never worked for me. I’ve learned the value of creative excursions and explorations on my own, of filling the well, but on my own schedule. I may not be following the instructions of the “Artist Dates” but I get the same benefits. I follow the spirit of the teachings, not necessarily the absolute.

I will confess as well, I didn’t fill out one worksheet, one questionnaire, answer one “recall a time when xxxx happened” exercise in The Artist’s Way as proscribed. I didn’t follow the recommend schedule for reading. I would move quicker or slower as the material worked for me. I’ve done the same with many, many creative books now. I never read Simple Abundance daily, I would pick it up as it inspired me and read chunks of it at a time. I skipped all of the fill-in-the-blank exercises of Martha Beck’s Finding your own North Star but the material has stuck with me nonetheless.

I read, absorb, journal, write about the most important pieces to me here. The ideas go into the “swirl” I’ve talked about before, become the fuel that keeps my creativity burning bright. I gain an enormous amount from the books I read and the classes I take. There is so much to learn from great teachers. I believe in trying on ideas and methods, and then trimming them, nipping and tucking them to make them fit me. We have to believe in our inner wisdom and intuition. We have to rely on our own experience and awareness of ourselves, of how we learn and integrate knowledge. We have to make the teachings ours if they are going to be useful.

Have you ever started a book or a class, something that comes highly recommended like The Artist’s Way, only to quit because you didn’t like the methods or didn’t want to follow the procedure? If so, I don’t think you’re alone. Here’s something new to try, if you find yourself in that situation: Just read the material. See what resonates with you, inspires you. Who knows, you might end up liking some of the suggestions and incorporating them in your own way, in your own time. Or maybe not, but you’ll have gained something more through the reading.

Today’s picture is inside the amazing Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona, by architect Antoni Gaudí. Here’s an artist who found his inspiration in novel sources. I’m sure he learned valuable information from his teachers, but I am glad he didn’t follow their proscribed methods exactly. He integrated and applied the knowledge in his own way, developing new methods. The world of architecture is more beautiful for his unique and creative interpretations.

Take that to heart today.

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Claim your Artist

With everyone born human, a poet — an artist — is born,
who dies young and who is survived by an adult.
– Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve
This morning I came across this quote in the introduction Julia Cameron’s Vein of Gold, the sequel to her amazing book The Artist’s Way which I read early in my creative journey. I’ve had Vein of Gold on my shelf for some time, but it wasn’t until this morning that I looked at the shelf and decided to pick the book up. It’s time for me to revisit the topic of creativity in more depth.
Within the first few pages, she has already touched on something that I believe at my core: We all have an artist within us. You may not have realized or rediscovered it yet, you may not have claimed it yet, but the artist is there. It’s the same artist who approached a new box of crayons with glee when you were 4 years old. The same artist who doodled on your notebooks in junior high. Who brooded over which songs to include to create the perfect mix tapes (er, playlists) as a teenager.
We all create. And a person who creates something, brings something new into the world that wasn’t there before, is an artist. I can name you an artist, but that doesn’t matter. The only person who can truly name you as an artist is… you.
Julia writes this in the introduction of Vein of Gold: “…you will reclaim your keys to the creative gifts locked within you. You will discover that the keys have been yours all along. This means, of course, that it is not my place to name you an artist. Such power would be lovely, but it does not reside with me. You are the one who must name yourself. You are the one who must seek – and claim – your creative destiny. No one else can do that for you, but you can do it for yourself.”
Are you ready to claim your artist? I did, some time ago here, and it was an amazing, empowering experience that has changed my point of view in so many ways. You can too. Come with me as I explore the “art + creativity” part of my personal equation more here in the future. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to claim your artist and find your own personal equation along the way too.

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Learning from the Lulls

Friday night I came home from work exhausted. I don’t know why, it hadn’t been a terribly stressful work week and I had a holiday on Thursday. Saturday morning I woke up looking forward to a morning on my own. My husband and son were heading off early to watch a bike ride and I had the house to myself. A rare treat. I sat at the computer to get into some of my creative work and what happened? Nothing. There was absolutely nothing there. No motivation, no inspiration, no creativity.

This had never happened to me before, around my creative work. This was new. This was scary. My mind quickly went from tired and unmotivated to panicked. So I took a deep breath. Centered myself. And then did something I never do: I turned off the computer.

Here’s what I did instead:

Took a bath.

Read a book in a sunbeam on the couch.

Colored a zentangle, so nicely provided to me by my blog friend Karen, only a day before. (Visit her here to download some zentangle book marks, if you have the urge to color.)

Baked popovers.
Read some more out on the balcony, finished the book. 
Ate pizza.
By the end of the day on Saturday, my creative inspiration was back. I turned on the computer, and my work was easy again. Sunday I continued my unplanned hiatus from creative projects and just let myself be. A few more things I did…
Started a new book.
Spent some time journaling.
Baked a cake with my son.
Started to color another zentangle from Karen.
Made origami cranes.
Photographed origami cranes. Multiple times.
Went for a walk with my son.
Ate gelato.
I finished the weekend refreshed. It’s Monday morning, and I’m ready to start my week. The small, unscheduled break from my creative goals turned out great. It refocused me, showed me a tiny bit of where I need to make changes to keep my inspiration flowing. I learned from this little creative lull. I know it’s not a big deal – it’s not as if I was completely blocked. It was just enough for me to get a glimpse of what could happen. To show me that I need to be careful, to listen to these moments, so I don’t get to real burnout.
Has this ever happened to you? How do did you respond, what do you do when a creative lull hits?
(The first photo is from Burano, and fills me with a sense of peace and calm. I can imagine sitting quietly in that chair, gathering my creative strength. It is a companion to another one I’ve shared previously here.)

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