Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Artist in Our Soul Part 1

I imagine every person is something of an artist in their own right.
 Whether one paints or bakes, sings or dances, writes poetry or prose,
is a sculptor or dressmaker,
beautician or a bridge builder,
we use our particular abilities to express ourselves to the world.

 I spent many years in my young life determining where I would make my mark -
would I become a writer, a public speaker, an astronaut or a stewardess?

My mother taught me to read when I was four.
 I was voracious, devouring anything and everything I could.  When I started school I discovered the Encyclopedia Britannica, and was immediately fascinated with the
American Presidents and First Ladies.
My mother always told me I could be anything I wanted to be
 when I grew up,
and I wanted to be the

I asked questions . . .
At a tender age I perceived that the President of our country had people who told him
what he could and couldn't do.

I began to consider Queen, instead.

The Queen seemed to have so much more power, and fewer people who bossed her around.
I asked my mother how one went about becoming Queen.
I learned, to my dismay, that you needed to be born into a royal lineage, or to marry into one. . .

. . . this was more complicated than I had initially thought,
but, by the time I was about six, I was set upon finding a prince to marry.
The prince I could find the most written about was Prince Charles of England.
I was not impressed . . .

There was no limit to my imagination, and I was delighted to read everything I could find
about royalty, throughout my elementary school years.
I eventually decided the potential for meeting a suitable prince was limited, so I moved on to other
 professional possibilities.
(truthfully . . . I'm still watching, just in case . . . )

I explored areas . . . specifically those where my personal skills and wishes might be executed
without someone telling me I had to conform to rules.
I determined this profession would need to be in circles where no rules existed.
My mother assured me that rules existed in all areas of life, but wished me luck in my pursuit, and encouraged me to become anything I desired to be.

I was enamored with the potential of being able to create something,
and having no one assert that it was "wrong", or that I couldn't do it my way.
Artists were always right. They expressed their views in their work - and must be accepted for whom they were!

Unfortunately, the art teachers in my elementary years believed in coloring inside the lines.
I was beginning to believe I would need to start my own country.

For the next fifteen years I struggled with my artistry, my self expression, my self realization.
 I married and settled into a new home, and took delight in all aspects of life. . . .
particularly the endeavors of feathering my little nest.

I enjoyed the fact that I could mix paints to achieve the precise shade of wall I wanted.
I decided to paint the four walls of my first living room four ever-so-slightly different shades of the same color, so that daylight moving across them would create a variety of nuances.  Sunrise, mid-day, sunset, evening incandescent light . . . oh, I was in heaven!

I had a huge palette, and could make my world anything I desired!  In the eight years we lived in that home, I painted and repainted and painted again . . . so thrilled to be able to change the mood and ambiance.  I explored the differences in seasonal light, and discovered the variety to be had from cool or warm or full spectrum light bulbs!

Mirrors were magic!  I could reflect and enhance the view, add depth to a room . . .
the possibilities were endless!
I wall papered over the painted walls.
I stripped wallpaper and textured the walls with plaster.
I was queen of my own little country.

To be continued in the next post . . .

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