Begin Again
I’m coming to the end of my lovely art class. It has been such a beautiful journey and much needed respite for my soul. The class, Mixed Media Mantras with Kelly Rae Roberts, has been just what I needed. It’s not just an art class, but a way to touch on your own inner working, your own stories, and parse out your inner wisdom. It doesn’t start with art, it starts with self and soul, and brings that deeper voice forward through art. What a gift!
I made multiple pieces from the course, and decided to share each one of them here since they are all connected to pieces of me, and I think maybe pieces of some of you too. It seemed fitting to begin with the one titled “begin again”.
The process of creating mixed media art is that it goes through a series of layers and transformations. If you let yourself be open to the process and the playful nature of it you really can’t know where it will take you, or have any idea what the end result with look like. However, the imagery that found its way onto this canvas speaks to much of what my life is like these days.
When people talk to me about finding balance in life I often redirect the conversation to one of rhythm. I feel like the concept of balance sets us up for an unattainable ideal that if we tweak things just right we can find the sweet spot. I prefer to think of life as finding a rhythm, which is a moving thing, and something that can change beat and tempo as it’s going along. Some days we need to focus more on family, some days we need to focus more on work, some days all the focus needs to turn inward, but it’s ultimately about finding the rhythm that keeps us playing the tune or living the life that feels true- whatever that means. Some of us are a little bit rock and roll, and some of us are a little bit country (and some of us are both). Whatever we are, if we feel we’ve completely lost our rhythm, we can reset and begin again. I know that’s easier said than done, and it takes attention and intention. The musical notes are a symbol that I’m not reaching for some perfect place or moment, but trying to listen for the tempo, to find the harmony with those around me, and I have to pay attention to when it feels like the whole thing’s gone to shit and needs a reset. And I have to pay attention to those things that help me get the reset so that I can begin again.
You’ll also find several butterflies on this canvas, which easily represent new life, new beginnings, starting again. I’ve always loved butterfly imagery and the process of transformation we all go through many times over in our lives in a multitude of ways. They are gentle and gracious, and somehow very hearty underneath the beauty, able to travel the globe and withstand storms. For the past decade my life has felt like a long transition, and at times like I’m inside the chrysalis, completely liquified and trying to rebuild every piece me. But I believe (I need to believe) that there is something strong underneath what can sometimes look and feel a bit too fragile- that I’m headed somewhere and I’m built to withstand the storms. The butterflies offer a beacon of hope, with the ever present message that sometimes when it feels like things are over, or have gone dark, life and new beginnings are just on the other side.
I find that motherhood has created a life full of stops and starts for me. There are moments where I get a little space to imagine, dream, even move toward some of my own hopes and goals, but then it gets stalled- the school calls, the sport season starts, the homework piles up. Things get side-tracked or completely stopped, and at some point I must gather the willpower to begin again. The last several years have felt like a constant back and forth between working to move forward in my professional life, and getting stopped dead in my tracks by the insurmountable needs of my and my family’s physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health. With each pause or full stop I have to remind myself that there is time, and there is space, and not everything has to happen all at once. I’ve had to lean hard on my own tools this year- some old and some new. At several points it felt like the stops might be permanent, like the only path forward was to completely abandon myself and hold all of the pieces for everyone else. I was isolated, overwhelmed, heart-broken, and in pain. And somehow, even in the lowest of lows, we can begin again. It’s been a slow steady march with the intention to reclaim some semblance of self. It’s taken intentional connections, embodied practices, contemplative practices, doctors visits, therapy, assessments, certifications, and art classes- each one seemingly both a stopping and a starting in their own right.
And with each stop or pause, the commitment to begin again.