cracked open

So much unfolded on my retreat that I’m overwhelmed when I think about trying to write about it in one fell swoop. Plus it would be one long boring post, so I’ll just start writing and see what comes out…

I was so excited *!SO EXCITED!* that I didn’t think twice. Until I got into my car and pointed the wheel northwest…then I realized that I had never actually met one soul there and I got nervous. My first meal there, I walked into the cafeteria with my head high and a smile on my face (it felt like my first day at a new high school), and got a tray full of yummy food and sat at a table all by myself. By the end of the night I had made some fast friends and had fallen in love with Jonatha Brooke while she played by the bon fire.



I painted and learned new techniques and looked within and watched carefully and listened closely. I stretched emotionally and physically (holy cow, that was a loooong walk to the cafeteria for a pregnant girl—like 20 minutes through the woods—both ways, three times a day!). I dug deep and pieces of me are changed—hopefully permanently.



On the last day I got “cracked open” as Jen Gray put it, and during the Superhero class while I was working with the sweetest partner ever, I was supposed to be talking about someone I admire and listing reasons why I admire them. One of the people I chose was my husband and I started crying when I was talking about his character and why he is what he is to me. For the rest of the day I was a bit more fragile. That night was the Squam Craft Fair and lots of the people who were selling their beautiful things had attended SAW, but I walked through the aisle and came to an artist who was new to me. I was taken back by his colors and subject matter and his paintings felt like some of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Then I looked down on the table and there was one painting laying there and when I took it in, I started weeping. I took off to the bathroom to get a hold of myself, and after I was composed decided to return to get his information and as soon as I saw the painting again I started. Crying. Again. The humiliation! Rory (the artist) gently said, “Why are you crying?” and I may have gotten out something like, “…it’s so beautiful…the colors…your brush strokes…I can’t…it makes me cry…” while fanning my face and pointing to my heart that was hurting and mumbling apologies for my embarrassing behavior and pointing out that I’m hormonal with two babies inside me. After getting a few things out of me while I wrote my information for his mailing list he asked me why I have a hard time calling myself an artist and I gestured toward his painting and said through tears, “Because I can’t do this.” He started talking about creative expression and how all art is different and that I am an artist even if I don’t express myself the same way he does. He was very sweet and wise and was the perfect ending to all I had learned about myself during the previous few days.



So here’s to my new adventure as an artist! I suppose I was born one and will always be one. Let’s see what unfolds as I choose to stop listening to my gremlins and become the artist I’ve always wanted to be.