PLAY-DOH HIGH

Yesterday morning, while pondering on the porch, I decided that there is some force in the universe that always seems to be pushing me along, never content with the steps I have already taken away from my comfort zone. I like to think this force might be the Mother of Muses, or MoM. It seems she won't be content until I overcome my phobia about art.

Some of my earliest memories are of being ecstatically in love with art supplies - child-sized easels with pots of paint lined up on the tray, the little black tin box of water color tablets, the giant box of crayons with built in sharpener, Play-doh, modeling clay, tubs of school paste and rubber cement, scissors, manila paper, construction paper and colored cellophane. I even loved the way they smelled. To this day, I think I get a little high whenever I catch a whiff of Play-doh. Unfortunately, art supplies also terrified me.

The urge to create was strong, but in my family, the fear of criticism and the need to be perfect were even stronger. So I chose the safe route. I stuck with coloring books, and was fanatical about staying within the lines. I did paint by number kits and learned to sew from patterns as a teen. As an adult I took up tole painting, again sticking to a pattern. Then the gardening bug finally bit me. You can't be a perfectionist and a gardener, so I was forced to loosen up. The plants were my paints, the beds my paper. I even did garden designing for a while, because I felt safe using the templates to draw the shapes, and was then able to indulge my love of colors by collecting and playing with all the Prismacolor markers and pencils. But still, I was always careful to stay within the lines. MoM just couldn't leave well enough alone.

For some reason she drove me to pick up pen and paper. It felt almost like a possession, a force I was incapable of resisting. And she wouldn't allow me to keep it private either. She and my husband were co-conspirators, enticing me with this blog idea. But at least she sent me a plethora of friends and muses, to support me in times of rejection and criticism. They held my hand and urged me along, saying "See? That wasn't so bad!" Now I realize that sure, there will always be someone who didn't like what I wrote, but who gives a shit? Someone will! And the only thing that really matters is, how did it make me feel to create it? Still, MoM isn't content.

Now she is whispering in my ear again, asking "When are you finally going to let us get those paints and Play-doh? Isn't it time, now that you know the world won't come to an end if you make a mistake?"

I came inside after writing this in my journal, and took my usual morning spin through my favorite blogs. Just to make sure I was paying attention to her whispering, MoM led me to this blog entry first thing: http://ebenezerscribe.blogspot.com/ (check out the one titled Art vs Craft)