There's something meaningful about sending a letter or card through the mail.

It's the slightest bit inconvenient. It takes time to handwrite it, ensure you have the correct postage, walk to the mailbox, send it in the mail, and wait for it to arrive. You could have texted or emailed or phoned, but you sacrificed the slightest bit and that feels important. 

In such an age of technology, part of me is surprised we still have mailboxes. I receive so much spam/advertising mail, most of my bills are paperless. Does anyone else get that jolt of excitement when something personal arrives in your mailbox? It makes me want to check the mail every day, just in case.

Today, I made a simple thank you card for a friend. 

Some tunez:

This morning, I drew an ordinary chair. It's a fold-up chair, perhaps the most ordinary of them all. I don't think I've ever drawn one, so it was a little tricky to keep perspective. It turned out a little wonky, but that's generally how it goes when we lose perspective, no? 

Today though, I had a brush with extraordinary. 

While enjoying lunch in the sunshine today, I glanced at the shadow cast on the concrete by my bent legs, and noticed a rainbow. As I moved my legs around, I noticed this band of light and color only existed in the darkness of my shadow and in that particular spot. I could have easily missed it. I'd unintentionally left my sunglasses in the office, so looked down to avoid the bright light when this caught my eye. 

Where did it even come from? There wasn't a crystal prism dangling in a window. I was outside, in the open, sitting below the Durham Bulls baseball park scoreboard. A place I've sat dozens of ordinary times. And to only exist in my shadow? It caught my attention, to say the least. 

And then -- 

While driving home after work, I noticed another small rainbow in the distance -- in a cloud. Sitting at a stoplight, I tried to take a photo but soon realized I could only see the rainbow clearly with my sunglasses on. 

​WHAT?!

A rainbow is the full spectrum of wavelengths of light -- all colors.
Darkness is the absence of light -- the absence of all color. 

Again I say -- WHAT?!

​That's all I have. I'm still wonderstruck. Hold on, my friends. There's hope yet.

Back in the day, colored pencil was totally my jam. I would sink hours into the practice, lost in it, enjoying the soft layerability. When considering what to do this morning, I realized the gap in my mediums and pulled a few colored pencils from their dusty package.

I chose an artist trading card as the base for my tiny piece, anticipating the small size would keep it manageable. Instead, I found myself laboring over it, worried if the colors were right, whether things blended enough (but not too much), whether the paper's texture was rebelling. I regressed to toil and legalistic technique.

It's just colored pencil. Why do I feel a need to try so hard? I wasn't assigned this project, no one commissioned it, this one will probably become a bookmark. This practice is for joy, not strain. I catch myself toiling similarly in my day to day -- ruminating over an earlier conversation, worrying whether some future thing may happen. 

My priority these days is living a life less hurried, with less striving. Ambition has a different nature; I have plenty of ambitious goals. However, striving is colored with anxiety and fear. There's enough of that darkness already. I'm aiming to simplify, focusing on the lighter side of life: playfulness, relaxation, joy. In creativity, I crave simplicity too. Something whipped up in less than 10 minutes, lines only, often black and white. The wild, free-flowing ink of my pen is enough.

When it comes to most things, I'm pretty into color, so I'm surprised how much I'm enjoying the simplicity of black and white these days. I took up pen and paper again this morning; I've been digging these Pilot G-2 fine point pens for writing and drawing. A pencil is a lot safer, but pen is so permanent. You can't erase. I could interpret that as "no mistakes", but I'm not seeing it that way. Like the feather from my first exercise, I commit to making something of any mistakes. As in life, no do-overs -- just improvise.  

I've always been into trees -- climbing them, standing in awe of them, figuratively hugging them. While meditating this morning, I visualized walking through a forest, so I opened my eyes ready to draw a tree. Not gonna diminish it, I'm pretty proud of this one. Calling it Branching Out. 

On a recent hike at Roan Mountain, I was captivated by how unique (enchanted!) the place was. Dark trunks, vibrant moss. Nature follows general patterns (i.e. you know a tree when you see one), but particular combinations of wind, rain, sunlight, temperature, soil, and other factors collaborate to produce incredible complexity.  I can't help but stand in wonder. 

​A song:

Blind contour drawing trains your eyes and hands to work better together. Athleticism has never been my greatest asset, so this sort of hand-eye coordination is more in my lane. I remember sitting in Mrs. Slappey's 7th grade art class, pairs of desks facing each other, when I was first introduced to this drawing practice.

Portraits are awkward. We traced our partner's every feature with our eyes while deciding where our hand should go next, desperately trying not to pick up the pencil or glance at the paper.

Self-portraits are slightly less awkward, but challenging all the same. Really seeing yourself -- each detail, moment by moment.

I'm calling this one Sumo Selfie. "Sumo" inspired by my post-exercise/pre-shower top knot, what my truest self looked like when I embarked upon my private staring contest. 

Some tunes: 

What is it about art left undone? In the throes of passion for a new idea, it's easy to get lost in the process for hours. Then you have plans or need to eat, and you set it aside. It's hard to stir up that fire again, or at least it is for me. This is why I paint and repaint canvases, because I no longer care about the first idea and this canvas right here is the perfect size for this other great idea I have. 

I've found these exercises are good for the "finishing the work" side of creating. The built-in accountability has been tremendously helpful in establishing my creative habit. Wanting to have something to show for myself each day, my eyes are open for what project I'm taking on next. I see half-finished projects and oodles of scrappy supplies waiting to be dusted off and MADE.

There will probably be days where I share a work-in-progress, for the sake of embracing the process and allowing others to see something unfinished. That'll be a special kind of challenge. 

Indeed, I picked up an oldie but goodie this afternoon. This one was sitting in my stack of tiny unfinished canvases. Some time ago, I drew it out, painted the background a sunny yellow, and left it sitting in the dark for several years. 

I don't remember what inspired this tiny painting. Though there's not much context to the setting, it makes me think of couples dancing in the streets. Maybe I recently returned from Central America travels and wanted to immortalize the good times had. I don't know why they don't have faces, and I'm especially curious about the spiral in the center of the woman. Perhaps passion or movement, or symbolism of a twirl just completed. I'm calling this one Finalmente.

Another oldie but goodie: 

This morning's creative session had a stronger air of anxious energy. I woke up that way, and carried it into my paint. [Note to self: do not check email immediately prior to creative efforts.]

I used a tiny 2" x 3" canvas to keep it manageable (my day job beckoned), covering up something weird I painted a few years ago. I often paint and re-paint canvases. I like textured layers that make someone wonder what's under there.

I used paint from a previous project, sealed in an air-tight jar. I blobbed other colors straight from the bottle, and used small brushes to add some dots around it -- like stars. 

I don't love this one.

It's not bad (nor is it profound), but I played it too safe and resourceful. I used materials leftover from other things -- things a waste-less someone should* use -- when what I actually wanted to do was finger paint. 

I wanted  to grab a fresh piece of paper and drag blues and greens across it and use a dried-up pen to write a good quote in the paint. I wanted to have to scrub my fingernails after. 

Instead, I used a canvas (a figurative box, if you will) and paint I should* use before it got old and viscous. I traded Joy for Obligation, which isn't the aim of my #100daysofcreativeplay exercises at all. Somewhere around 12 years ago, I realized my art didn't need to be realism or in colored pencil (those rebellious college days) and I stumbled into the Joy of abstract acrylic painting.

I don't paint as much these days, since it takes some preparation -- the space, the materials, the clothes (I am not a tidy artist, nor should* I be). My intention with this project is to restore the Joy (Play) more often (Discipline). It needn't take hours, though it could. Moving forward, I intend to use what I want to use, welcoming creative freedom. I'm calling this one Soul Revival.

Finishing with another song: 

Yesterday, cabin fever-euphoria set in while “snowed in” and I committed to #The100DayProject. The idea found it’s way to me through a random email I skimmed and within minutes, I decided — I’m in.

I’m not much of a resolutions person, but this year, I pressed Reset. I’ve found myself going-through-the-motions and forgetting to enjoy the present and its gifts. Forgetting to enjoy my gifts. I deactivated Facebook a week ago in hopes of filling those previously-scrolling hours with my actual interests, and choosing what I want my life to be about. One of those things is Creativity. 

Nearly 2 years ago, I initiated this blog space to share my creativity publicly — and hopefully propel a few others to do the same. Since its birth, I’ve been sharpening my disciplined side: learning to code, paying off debt, keeping house, exercising regularly, eating well — all good things… and yet, when I consider being disciplined about my creative gifts, I’m intimidated. Frozen by the amorphous idea of what art “should” be, of missing the mark. [We’d be wise to exercise caution with the word “should” anyhow.]

Consistent creativity is nurtured with both -- playfulness and discipline.

In shaping my own #The100DayProject, I chose a theme to keep me on target and prevent reverting to my 5 year old self, pestering loved ones with unceasing “what should I draw?”s.  I wanted freedom too — allowing the subject matter and medium to vary: words, paint, pen, marker, collage, building, clay, whatever feels right. 

So I chose Play.

Today, I kicked off #100daysofcreativeplay. I began early, following a short meditation just after waking up. Most of my anxieties are still asleep at that time, so I thought it’d be a good time to start. I grabbed my drawing pad and favorite pen and spent 5 minutes sketching this: 

So I quit my job and I'm changing careers, but more on that later. Today is Day Three post-9 to 5, so the dust is still settling. Where I live in NC, snow is rare, but some form of frozen precipitation has been falling intermittently since the moment I stepped out on my last day. For better or worse, I like to believe everything is a bit symbolic, and I hear snow helps clear out pollution. True or not, I'm welcoming that metaphor into my own life, so let it snow.

In my experience, art (in its many forms) reveals glimpses of honesty from what often appears as haphazard confusion. It's the ordinary stuff of life in focus, attempting to connect the dots. Through my own lens, I'm curating a collection of art, explorations, tunes, flavors, style, and movers-and-shakers I hope will inspire us to lean more fully into who we are as creatives.

To flexing more often, 
Lindsey

PS. Here's a fun song: