Messes

A month ago, I read Thrashing About With God by Mandy Steward.  That led me down a rabbit trail of her blog and that led me down a very long, very exciting rabbit trail of art journalers.

So I went hunting for the Prismacolor pencils I once bought in an I'll-be-an-artist spurt that ended with my first bad drawing and and pulled out this journal I've scribbled in before, but always felt inadequate for and said FORGET IT.  I'm going to start scribbling with a few pencils.

Then I stumbled across this darling e-course called Art, Heart, and Healing, and so I got a five-dollar set of watercolor cakes at a local craft store and once again said FORGET IT and took on week one's lessons (shared here).

And now I've pastel-ed and watercolored something almost every day for a week.  My kitchen table is a mess and so is my desk in the little upstairs room that's become my creative haven and I love all the mess.  I love the bright paints and the white pages ready for ink splatters.  I love the words on the pages and the way I'm embracing the imperfections there because the messy makes the whole a little more tangible.  I love that I'm not a capital-A Artist, but I am an artist because I am getting something down each day.

And I've started Instagramming constantly. Sorry about that (but not really sorry).  It's like a log-book of all the things that are art in the everyday.  Sure, it doesn't reveal my messy kitchen sink or the fridge I really need to clean out or anything like that, but that's not the point.  It's more like a scrapbook, holding bits of each day and a few too many pictures of my dog.

I wrote awhile ago that I was on a journey this summer to find my voice, and I think I've found a snippet of it.  I have to share it a little, too--sharing it is an essential part, in fact.  and I'm thankful for this little blog and its tiny audience, because it creates a safe sharing space.