I’m pulling this one out of the archive closet. It really speaks to this newly purposed blog format for the Messy Room. And it also speaks to journaling the journey!
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Original Entry: April 5, 2007
Those of you who signed up for our manifestation series will know what I mean when I say I am working on the first part of the formula. Got to walk the talk, right? So, I want to share a fun awareness that very quietly slipped into view last week – between the waxing moon and full moon.
Something interesting – or should I say someone interesting – has reappeared. My artist self. It took two layovers in Atlanta, a week apart, in one particular bookstore – wandering the aisles and killing time between Feng Shui appointments – to finally notice her presence. (I live a good ways from Atlanta so I consider these kind of layovers a real treat.)
Anyway, back to wandering the aisles, sipping coffee, and scanning the usual shelves. (Self help. Interior design. Philosophy. Metaphysical.) On my second visit, I found an angel card deck by Doreen Virtue that was not sealed and treated myself to a mini-reading. That must have been where my artist self saw her opportunity to sneak in because immediately afterward I landed in the art section, specifically the craft section, pouring through pages and pages of how to’s. Papermaking, hand-bound journals, altered books, collages, artist trading cards. Art decorated with found objects given a new purpose. Bits and pieces of God knows what from God knows where. The funkier the better.
Guess I got a little tipsy because the next thing I knew I was in the checkout line with a book on art dolls. That is when my artist self tapped me on the shoulder and posed an interesting question, one that I have not been able to shake:
What kind of artist would you be today if you stepped back into your art, Bernadette?
Stepped back into my art? I wasn’t aware that I had ever stepped out.
Since then, she has gently led me past my formal training in two-dimensional art and design to the little girl who drew paper dolls, designed their wardrobe, cut them out, and played with them. To the mixed media child who covered shoe boxes (inside and out) with aluminum foil and colored tissue paper and then glued bits of ribbon, broken pieces of jewelry, scraps of netting, plastic flowers (Yep. I’m a survivor of the tacky plastic flower era), rocks, seashells, and any other fair-game-found-objects into her little shadow box world. A world that was often integrated with religious themes; her favorite being those that incorporated a statue of the Virgin Mary from her mother’s dresser in a grotto-like setting. (As grotto-like as you can get in a box covered with aluminum foil.) She especially liked to attach little handmade cards with a poem or verse – or better yet, the promise of a novena and gift her creations “To Mom.” Creations that only a mother could love – and a blessed mother at that!
Viewing my intrigue for funky, mixed-media expressions of art these last couple of years as an anomaly, her reappearance assures me with a sense of continuity and leaves me with a distinct feeling that, when my life supports a little more time for creative expression of the visual kind, she will be the artist that gets to play.
Why? Because what she finds enthusiasm for is symbolic and rather plentiful in my life right now. Collage-like days that reflect bits and pieces of experiences combined not so much for the purpose of an obviously finished masterpiece but for the pleasure of an obviously unfinished process. Snippets of inspiration. Of this and that pulled together. Magical creations. Mixed-media expressions of a multi-dimensional spirit. Past. Present. Future. Revealed in the spontaneity of the moment. Clip it. Paste it. Throw a little glitter on it. What a wonderful meditative practice her art form could be. I find myself thinking about the kind of workshops she would want to give. Messy ones that tap into and somehow express sanctuary, spirituality, and the goddess – a la Mary and the grotto; prayers included.
So, my awareness in this first cycle? My artistic urges to gather fair-game-found-objects and hide them in shoe boxes in the back of my closet are, in fact, not an anomaly or a childish phase, but a clue. An answer. My artist self was there in the beginning with a purpose and has reappeared with a purpose – and I’m quite curious to see what we will be creating together.
Anybody else want to play? Pull out your shoe boxes and jump right in!
If you enjoyed this you might also enjoy: My Life as Ephemera
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