Wonderful things happened when I started allowing myself to indulge in decadent presence – shifts that were stuck in the cognitive realm finally became embodied, curiosity began to soothe my fears, I developed respect for my thoughts and rhythms, and I felt a lightness in my heart, independent of external circumstances.
What if I listened to myself respectfully, and took what my body was saying about it’s capacity and needs seriously? I had a breakthrough with this abstract concept when I started using art to talk to myself.
Thought loops became bright squiggly pastel smears, wounds expressed themselves in rhythm and movement, grief came through in song and strumming, reassurance wrapped itself into the softness of fabric, watercolour lent its ethereal charm to discerning reality amidst chaos, pottery highlighted where conflicts lived in my body, gardening encouraged me to notice gentle blossoming, in wood shavings and electric saws I felt an admission of power, poetry seduced shame out of its shadows, theatre pinpointed my regrets, and baking saved my life.
Wonderful things happened when I started allowing myself to indulge in decadent presence – shifts that were stuck in the cognitive realm finally became embodied, curiosity began to soothe my fears, I discovered my unique rhythms, and I felt a lightness in my heart, independent of external circumstances.
When I host art circles in community, I’m moved by the capacity of creation, regardless of medium, to spark self-confrontation and mutual connection even on unflattering thoughts and beliefs. What a solace to be witnessed in our entirety, and what a gift to be carried there by art.
Art is for everyone. We all deserve the benefits and growth that come from expressing and being witnessed.