Can I Have My Crayons Back?

I came across this wisdom in my quote feed from Goodreads:

“Everyone is born creative; everyone is given a box of crayons in kindergarten. Then when you hit puberty they take the crayons away and replace them with dry, uninspiring books on algebra, history, etc. Being suddenly hit years later with the 'creative bug' is just a wee voice telling you, 'I'd like my crayons back, please.” — Hugh MacLeod 

When I think of what I enjoy most when I'm "off the clock," it is all about creativity.  This has been a passionate thread throughout my life...even in my career interest tests it would always be the same: "Well suited for the creative arts."

But it seemed like fluff...so I ventured safer pathways where a salary was guaranteed.  I've done well.

But looking back it seems if I was not involved in something creative, I was not really living.  These feelings came from the heart of a girl who could draw Fred and Wilma Flintstone perfectly when I was in Kindergarten.

I created music through singing and playing instruments. I created clothing for myself and my children.  I created a nurturing home through decorating.  I created cuisine through cooking.

But there have been times when the well was so dry that there was nothing to tap into creatively...

I was just starting my work in pediatric palliative care.  It is demanding work.  Then six weeks in, my father was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, dying six months later.  The loss hit me hard and I'll spare you the details of my grieving.

I had bought my first DSLR as a "congratulations on your new job" around my birthday but had not done much with it.  The next summer I picked it up and began getting to know it.

And an amazing thing happened...healing began.

Creativity was no longer fluff or self-indulgence...it is part of my restoration and renewal through the challenges of life.  A lifesaver, so to speak.

Now...pass the crayons!

A New Effect - Friday Finds!

Back at Kim Klassen's Friday Finds today...this week I found and practiced a new technique...a coloring book techqniue...

These photos are from Jackson's Mill, the childhood home of Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson...

This cabin on the property is that of my 5th great-grandfather, Henry McWhorter...

This was part of the lesson from Linda Sattgast's Art of Blending...using filters, masks, and blendings.

Can you tell I think this new found trick is a ton of fun?

Traveling Light

Just a little, easy and light post that incoporates homework from Day 5 of Beyond Beyond...the newest e-course from Kim Klassen.

This Day 5 was jam-packed with content...but part was a challenge to add light to your photos...



Now, Kim has the luxury of an old antique home with large windows and a second story floor high above anything in her neighborhood that would block the glorious daylight...

This poor schlogger, and some of my other photo friends, aren't so lucky...standard size windows, bad natural light, or not even being home when there is the best light...

So rather than crying in our beer coveting Kim's house...she gave us some secrets to overcome this little obstacle.

 

But I cannot share these secrets...or my gangsta Kim Klassen groupies will find me and cut me...you know who you are! <smile>

My "studio room" is a light gray with white beadboard...but these original wooden mini blinds from the previous owner HAVE to go...

So...instead...I ordered some MarthaWindow (ooooooooooooooooooooooh) sheer grommet-top panels from JCPenneys and some great hardware to "go with"...a nice airy look that will provide some nice light diffusion in that room.



I'm stoked...inspired...ready to rumble...but first...



a cup of coffee...and a tiny dish of mocha mudslide ice cream...the cheap brand (Great Value) from Walmart.  It is to DIE for...  Just look at these stars!

Until next time (gotta run and get my OLW vision board done!)

Do Not Pass the Palette...Do Not Collect $200

I sit at my laptop gazing out the window...not sure how to write what the "committee in my head" has been mulling over the past few days...

I did something this week I rarely do...take PTO (paid time off) in winter...not just one, but TWO days...

Simply because I knew I needed it...the battery of this cordless screwdriver was running on mere fumes (do batteries have fumes?)...  Empty, joyless, trying to run with cement shoes on.  Barren...

And yet, something told me, "Don't waste these days..."  I guess you'll be hearing more about how valuable this time has been over a series of posts.  Who wants a long read, right?

First off, "My name is Denise F. and I'm an introvert..." (a parody of an AA meeting), so how do I recharge? 

Rather than list those ways...I'll have you see some of those ways in my posts over the next few days.

I went into my studio (our third bedroom that has desks and cupboards and supplies...but no bed) not really knowing where my time would take me.

We've been studying the book of Hebrews in church...parallel to that, another congregation is as well whose podcasts I download...Beth Tikkun Messianic Fellowship (which means "place of restoration").  I thought I would listen to the introduction to Hebrews from their pastor, L. Grant Luton.

He was using an analogy of an artist, an artist's palette, and a painting as a way to introduce what Hebrews is all about.  And my mind drifted back to a song/poem I had heard a long time ago as a teenager...called The Brush...the songwriter wrote it about his life:

 

Life started out like a canvas,
And God started painting on me,
But I took the paintbrush from Jesus,
And painted what I wished to see.

The colours I painted kept running,
And the objects were all out of size,
I had made a mess of my painting,
My way now seemed so unwise.

Then I gave my painting to Jesus,
All the colours, all the pieces so wrong.
In the markets of earth it was worthless,
But His blood made my painting belong.

He worked with no condemnation,
Never mentioned the mess I had made.
Then He dipped His brush in the rainbow,
And signed it, the price has been paid.

When I gave the brush back to Jesus,
When I gave the brush back to Him
He started all over life?s canvas to fill,
When I gave to Jesus the brush of my will.

 

Words and Music by Chuck Milhuff

 

And here is that songwriter and the song sung by Ben Speer of the Speer Family:

 



Now...I love today's praise and worship music, but the eloquency in these lyrics, along with its truth, moved me to tears.  And I'm finding that the richness of the words (and the truth they hold) in the older hymns that have survived centuries have a special way of nurturing me, as no modern songs can...like the one I featured in this post.  But I digress...

Have you ever seen a painter's palette?

It is messy, chaotic, seems to have no redeeming value, no meaning, not a place where paint wants to remain...

And yet, we are born into this world as fresh as brand new tubes of oil paint and we want to somehow go from the tube straight onto the canvas..to live a beautifully perfect painting of life.

But, as Pastor Luton illustrated...we cannot take a detour past the pallet...but our journey must go through the pallet.  God wants to squeeze us out and mix light with dark...and to us it looks like random chaos.

C. S. Lewis wrote in a letter dated December 20, 1943 (when England was in the middle of The Blitz, and they had no idea of the outcome):

The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one's own or real life. The truth is, of course, what one calls interruptions are precisely one's real life. The life God is sending is one day at a time. What one calls one's real life becomes a phantom of one's imagination. This is what I see in moments of insight, but it's hard to see it all the time.
 

I don't know totally what my phantom "real" life was dreamed to be (but some things I would have gladly left out), but the fact is...my real life is the palette.  I've seen the chaos, the sin, the randomness, the heartache, the dark colors, the bright ones, the failures, the struggle to find meaning of it all at times, and how, when I take the paintbrush, I make things an even bigger mess...and some of the chaos is a necessary sign of the Painter's love.

So, what a blessing when God steps in and corrects you!
Mind you, don’t despise the discipline of Almighty God!
True, he wounds, but he also dresses the wound;
the same hand that hurts you, heals you.
From one disaster after another he delivers you;
no matter what the calamity, the evil can’t touch you— Job 5:17-18 (The Message)

God rescues the afflicted by their affliction;
He instructs them by their torment.  Job 36:15-16 (HCSB) 

But often, if I step back, I can see the hand of the Painter...other times His hand is still hidden...

But I trust the Painter...and how He can turn the mess into a masterpiece...

And the meaning of the palette is it is the history, the story behind it all...what it took for the Painter to make me His masterpiece.

And the theme of Hebrews is to persevere on the palette...the Painter knows what He is doing.

Quality time spent so far...and it might just be me...

...but I'm starting to see a little green...

Me and the Thistle

While in Canaan Valley last month...with my love of art by West Virginian artisans...I stopped by one of my favorite places...Mountain Made.

I've always loved thistles...then a friend from Sacramento, Geri Royer (she's a docent at Sutter's Fort),

 

intrigued me more about this humble weed.  But the story goes further...and this handcrafted silversmithed necklace of a thistle had an even deeper connection.

The research I did on my ancestry after my father died in 2009 resulted in discovering that my roots go back to 17th century Scotland.  Yes, a lowlander...persuaded by King James to migrate to Ulster, Ireland...just 13 miles across the ocean. 

These Ulster-Scot ancestors of mine thrived in Ulster and were prosperous...and, of course, English Parliament felt threatened by such competition.  Economic oppressions plagued my ancestors as the English rule flooded them with restrictive regulations.  Given that and Queen Anne's succession to the throne in 1703 which encouraged discrimination against Protestants (most Ulster-Scots were Presbyterian)...resulted in a quarter of a million Ulster-Scots migrated again...this time to the American Colonies.

Many of my Ulster-Scot ancestors served 7 years of indentured servanthood in payment of their debt for their passage.  Once the debt was paid, they hacked their way into the wilderness on the frontier...in appalachia...the only land available for poor people.  My 5th-great-grandfather, Henry McWhorter, was one of those...his 18th century cabin remains in West Virginia...and I was able to photograph two summers ago.  His birthday is Tuesday!

And every subsequent generation was born in West Virginia until I came along...a child born of West Virginia parents who they, themselves, migrated to Ohio, with their college education obtained through the GI bill after World War II, to claim lucrative jobs before now had been beyond their reach.  And I was clothed and fed by The Goodyear Tire & Rubber Company.

So, you see, the Thistle of Scotland is part of my story.  Its legend is told below.

The thistle may only be a humble weed, but it is the emblem of the Scottish nation. The prickly-leaved, pink or purple-flowered ‘Scotch’ thistle is, along with tartan, perhaps the most identifiable symbol of all things Scottish. But how did the thistle earn its place in the heart of the Scots?

In truth, no-one knows, but legend has it that a sleeping party of Scots warriors were saved from ambush by an invading Norse army when one of the attackers trod on a thistle with his bare feet. His cries raised the alarm, the roused Scots duly defeated the invaders, and the thistle was adopted as the symbol of Scotland. Unfortunately, there is no historical evidence for this, but Scots, like other nations, love a good story.
 

And every Appalachian loves to tell stories...they're famous for it...stories told in folklore and in their music...

And I hope you've enjoyed my story today...

Walk About Town - Part I

Well, let's lighten things up...shall we?  My online e-course has challenged me to take a photowalk as content for a blog entry...actually the Beyond Layers course also challenged us to take photos of the area where we live...

So I chose to walk along the downtown area of the towpath, along the Ohio & Erie Canal, which is in the area where I work every day and about 20 minutes from home...there's no way on my walk I would not see God's mercies...

Now I was tempted to do a storyboard, but I couldn't narrow down all the photos...and then I thought one for each category of photos I took...but that would take more time and I wanted to get this out...



This fine gent (who appeared to be living on the streets, dirty, and had the dental work of someone addicted to methamphetamine)  met the three of us ("Edster", Bruno and I) early in the walk.  Friendly and engaging - Bruno did not seem to see him any differently.  And I wondered from where his choices had taken him...and I heard the words "and such were some of you."  Later I saw these homeless lads with a laptop (using an outside outlet) and getting internet service from a cell phone.  Moving on...

That was not the only talent I saw on our walk...





There was Mike...



Mike was humble...chatted for quite a while on a break.  He said he had been commissioned by the City to do a jazz mural.  This was the largest one he had ever done!  Today he was working on Duke Ellington...and he had the pants to prove it!



But given what I saw he had already done...I'm sure the Duke will turn out just great!



Then I found myself attracted to these fire escapes...



and these...



And definitely these...



But that was not the only architectural or fine art gifts given on our walk...but that will have to wait until  next time...

With gratitude,