Shaking Hands With My Deepest Self
A Missive from the Field: Issue 7, vol. 1
That evening I was shocked to look at my vision board and realize it no longer resonated with me. đż
In hindsight, I suppose it should have been expected that my interests and tastes would change in the last five years of deep emotional healing, therapy, and spiritual growth. In hindsight, it seems silly to expect the person that we are to stay exactly the same, and yet, as I stared at that kelly green poster board collaged with old Nat Geo clippings from 1983 and hand-scribbled words and map papers, I felt blindsided by the reality that I am different now from the 36-year-old battered farm girl who was trying to rebuild a shattered identity and creative journey.
All personal and private growth aside, my creative journey thus far has been marked by the hope and the single-minded pursuit of finding the space where I fit, the âthing.â THE thing that sets me apart from all others yet simultaneously bestows a sense of belonging in the whole; the unique voice, the special spark that marks every artwork. Every artist is supposed to have one. (Or so they say.) My perceived lack of âthe thingâ used to make me feel insecure, especially as I ran rampant, sampling every medium, technique, and style; trying them all on for size like a blouse at the store. Could I ever be a real artist until I found âitâ? Would I ever be âlegitimateâ if I couldnât boil down the entirety of my work into a single, pithy statement? And what if the discipline(s) I chose were not the one worthy of recognition and belonging?
But staring at that weathered vision board, I realized those questions are not large enough for what is really going on, or they miss the point entirely. What if the journey isnât about the voice or the style, but the process of seeking, the experience of a creative life?
In the Bible, we are told over and over that we are made for worship. For us creatives, that idea of living a life of worship encompasses our art and craft. Worship is not meant to be compartmentalized into a lone hour on Sunday morning â itâs supposed to suffuse our entire being, permeate every echelon of our daily life.
If we are cautioned against compartmentalizing our faith into something that we do once a week, then what happens to our art when we try to corral it into something as limited as a single style or method?
Or worse yet, a mere box to be ticked signalling our legitimacy as a creative?
I think, perhaps, we lose something deeply beautiful about the practice of our art and the growth of our journey. Because from day to day, we are not the same as we were, rather like that old saw about not being able to step in the same river twice. Every new experience goes into shifting and sometimes even completely changing and rewriting our understanding and practice of what it is we actually do.
Newly Released đ±
I recently uploaded a bunch of small, original oil pastel paintings to the Shop. $40 USD (shipping included), mounted on black foamcore and ready to frame
Just a reminder that âUp the South Fork,â (illustrated poem in zine format) is available to purchase! There will be more works released this year in this format. Buy a few and give them to your friends, drop a copy in your nearest little free library, leave some at the local coffee shop.
Onward with Courage⊠đż
I believe I will let the old and crinkled vision board stay up on my wall for a little longer as I lean in and tinker with my creative, spiritual insides. A new vision board will be made as I shake hands with my deepest self, identifying signposts and pillars along the way rather than a heavily scripted route forward.
May we never stop growing free of our self-imposed limitations. May we find the courage to explore and sample new ways of expressing what beauty God placed inside of us. May we embrace with bravery the truths about ourselves that He is revealing day by day.
May your creativity unlock and blossom for you this week,
⊠Heather
**If you enjoyed this newsletter, please consider checking out some of my other work. đż