Art has always been in the background for me. Lurking underneath. As a child my art-dreams got squashed in criticism and comparisons. I’m sure my father didn’t mean to beat me down, and instead was probably trying to boost my mom, but when you’re a kid and your every artistic effort gets compared to something your mother did, wouldn’t you feel squashed? What’s funny about this is my mom wasn’t really any kind of artist. She drew fantastical trees that I admired and attempted to copy, but aside from that her artistic efforts seemed mostly confined to cutting out construction paper leaves in yellows, oranges and reds and stapling them to a bulletin board in her 4th grade classroom at the beginning of every school year. Maybe her art-dreams were squashed, too.
Writing seemed safer than art to me, so I wrote. Writing got compliments, whereas my attempts to apply quickly-drying acrylic paints to nursery-rhyme drawings on paper were unsatisfying. I drew flocks of running horses in 4th grade and stiff fancy women in evening gowns in 5th grade. Art seemed so hard. Nothing turned out the way I saw it in my head. Writing was safer. I could make worlds from words.
Theater got me accolades, so I acted. I loved the camaraderie of the backstage cast, and the thrill of weeks of hard work finally coming together in front of an audience. I loved being someone I wasn’t. As long as they were going to call me “Sarah Bernhardt”, I might as well own it, right?
But Art always called. I answered her with bitterness, regret, and fear. When choosing high school electives, I scanned the art offerings with longing. I missed my chance, I thought sadly. You have to start young, I thought. Too late for me. So seats in the jewelry-making classes and the drawing classes were filled by someone else, not me. Artists. I was no artist, I thought.
Fast forward. A huge part of healing cancer, in my experience and belief, is allowing layers of Not-You to fall away while letting the True You shine through. For me, it was either do just that — walk through the flames of fear and embrace what lay on the other side and live, truly live — or die.
I chose life. REAL life. Awesome life. Which mean finally embracing the true call of my heart, not the layer-upon-layer of manufactured heart-calls that once felt safe: writing, acting, channeling. coaching.
My heart wants to play. And play, for me, means Art.
Sacred art. Goddess art. Channeled art. Combining all that I know and do and love.
One night a couple of months ago I stayed up late, using Pinterest as my visual guide to get clear on exactly my kind of art. I’ve been painting ever since. And I’ve never been so excited as I am now to get to work. Because my work now is finally Play.
What does this look like? My paintings embody the Divine Feminine. I use my Way of Seeing to capture the energetic essence of women. Think Vincent Van Gogh and his Starry Night. Think flowing radiance, blissful being-ness. Think radiant hope. Though my art, I help women and men access their feminine energy. The more we honor the feminine in all of us — fluid, receptive, grounded, Being — the more we bring balance to ourselves and to the world.