|A Student's Intuitive Painting in Process|
My kind of painting is "intuitive". Whenever I say that, people have no idea what I'm talking about.
It makes me feel a little woo-woo sometimes when I try to describe it. That I don't paint pictures to sell. That I paint to know myself more, to see my own patterns. And sometimes what comes out is pleasing to other people as well (and I have sold them) but that's not the point.
And I can't exactly name "the point" in ways that will make sense. Maybe it's because there isn't a point in the way that people look for reasons or points (and I do and have done this too).
As I type this it occurs to me that painting is Primal. It's tactile. It's ancient. When it's intuitive, its like an umbilical cord between your brush and creativity itself. It comes from the place that instinct comes from.
Sometimes it's easier to say what it is not. It's not about painting a picture to hang on your wall (although I sometimes do) or perfecting your techniques (I still love learning techniques even if I don't use them all the time). It's not about critique or perfectionism, more about quieting those tendencies and voices in your head. It's not about painting realistically or even abstractly. For me it's not a process filled with angst. I approach it as a curious observer to see what happens and I LOVE it (even when it gets hard and I want to quit.)
I don't always make time to paint. My nagging inner critic is telling me of all the other things I should be doing instead, like making jewelry for the new co-op that I will be starting in on Tuesday or or doing laundry or writing a newsletter....
But my soul is reminding me that it's time to paint. I'm noticing it's whisper in subtle ways. When I haven't painted in awhile, I start to lose the urge to create anything. I don't want to do any of the other things that keep my business moving forward.
I just want to crawl into bed. Or sit by the pool and drink good wine. Every night.
I also get edgy and emotional when I haven't painted for awhile. Little things bother me more. Perceived slights seem bigger. This is how I begin to notice that all is not right with me.
It used to be that writing healed these cracks when they arose, but lately it's been painting. Writing is cerebral, painting is primal. It comes from a place beyond thinking.
I get my mind out of the way and just let it flow. Crank up the music, pull out whatever brushes and colors call to me and dive in.
Experiment, let go, trust that even if it doesn't look exactly as I want it to at the moment, that it will come with time. That no matter what comes, I will be better for it.