

I am stretched and sTReTcHiNg to live poetically. Not apologetically.

Go for it, honey. Whatever time you have left, sow your wildflower seeds. You don’t have to plant yourself in rows any more.


Messy artistic adventures – with a few adventurers thrown in. Think of this Category as eye-candy and creative expression for the soul.
I am stretched and sTReTcHiNg to live poetically. Not apologetically.
Go for it, honey. Whatever time you have left, sow your wildflower seeds. You don’t have to plant yourself in rows any more.
#5 from the series “Tear Up that Book and Make Art.” Prints available in the Messy Room Art Gallery (Under Construction) If you are interested in a print, Contact me.
If you like this post, then please LIKE it and SHARE it because together we grow!Feet of Clay While her dance on earth bid her stay, she came to love her feet of clay. Though they crumbled and caved in life’s tidal wave of unknowing, she learned to reshape them and fire them with the glowing golden embers within her heart, the place that remembered where she got her start on wings of angels delivered to birth, royalty not subject to the mirth of fault-finders with cast iron feet bound to the earth, impenetrable and too deep to leap for the stars and catch fireflies in jars on hot summer nights when naked feet find delight in the dance that bid her stay while she came to love her feet of clay.
Bernadette Rose Smith
Feet of clay is an expression we use that points to character flaws found in our humanness. You know. Those times when we are so good we must be found bad. Or so bad we are good enough to raise the eyebrows of those mirthful faultfinders around us. (Inner critics included.) Lets face it. Whether a Hollywood starlet caught in a nose-picking event by paparazzi or the King of Babylon exposed in a dream by prophet Daniel or somewhere in between like the rest of us, having feet of clay ranks low on the bucket list of “I wants” or things to be celebrated. We try to rise above them with store bought miracle grow wings that promise to elevate our consciousness. Or we hop on brooms with “swoop and sweep” features that offer to deflect or hide our questionable character. Or we travel the earthbound distraction route, clicking the heels of our sparkly ruby slippers on the latest offering of a freshly painted yellow brick road in a search for more brains, more heart and more courage ... to what? Escape them? Well, how ‘bout we embrace them?No one can awaken from a dream the world is dreaming for him. – A Course in Miracles (text, P. 541)
Don’t be a stand-in in someone else’s dream. While this dance on earth bids you stay, learn to love your feet of clay. It starts with you. That’s all I’ll say.
Claim your feet of clay here!
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“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 MacLeodAdmit it. Don't you sometimes wish you could have your first box of crayons back? And all the innocent creativity that came with them? I don’t know about you, but it was love at first sniff for me. Then, it was the magic of choice with a world of color at my fingertips. For the first time in my young life I could choose a color. Blend a color. Shade. Highlight. Even outline a color with another color. My own little kingdom of color invited in newsprint paper, coloring books, tracing paper, connect the dots and my first mural that spanned the length of Aunt Rosemary's hallway. I am told her attempt to correct the self-appointed 4 year old muralist failed when she finished with, “Now, are ever going to do that again young lady?” and I replied, “I will if you want me to.” (Am thinking I must have sniffed a whole box of crayons that day as I don’t remember the “color like no one is watching” incident.) My adults must have recognized that I had a creative spirit that could no longer be contained in a box of 24 as I was entrusted with THE BIG BOX. You know the one. 64 crayons complete with the built-in sharpener. Now, not only could I choose more colors but I could also choose the thickness of my lines! And, if that wasn’t enough to be excited about, it was in this box that I discovered a magical color called periwinkle. When you placed it next to blue it looked purple and when you placed it next to purple it looked blue. That is when the power of choice and observation invited me to open the door to consider other paradoxical and equally enchanting dimensional possibilities that life had to offer. As adults in a techno-society that now underestimates the power packed inside something as sweetly simple as a box of crayons, LETS NOT FORGET! The next time you see a child pick up a crayon consider what you are witness to. All the sensory gears that set into motion with that very personal magical moment of choice. (It might just be their first.) Who knows, you might just want to join them to tap into some of that "in the now" innocence for yourself. We are never too old to play with crayons. Me, I still have my box of 64 ... and yes, I still sniff. What was your favorite magic wand as a child? Is it still? PSST: Were you a "sniffer," too? If you like this post then LIKE it and SHARE it! Together we grow!