Читать книгу My Lyrical Journey: How I Painted My Heart Wide Open - Paula Jones - Страница 6

I started painting at the ripe old age of 45 at the urging of a friend who was an artist . . . after a plaster ceiling fell on my head while I was doing what I loved at the time — remodeling houses. She insisted that I come to her studio/gallery and take a painting lesson.

“Bring all of your stuff,” she said.

“What stuff?” I said to myself. So, I did what every new, budding artist does. I stole my son’s art kit and took off for my very first lesson.

The first thing she told me to do was to lay out my paints.

“HUH?”

“You’ve never painted before?!” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Nope. Never. Ever. Except for walls.” It was fun…really fun. I couldn’t get enough. I took lessons from many artists that I admired.

I painted animals. I painted landscapes. I painted. I covered miles and miles of canvas. I got an itch to paint abstracts. I didn’t know anything about them. I didn’t know to proceed . . . how to paint them . . . or why I was even drawn to painting abstractly. I figured they would be easy. After all, if an elephant or a dog or whatever can paint them . . . surely I could? Couldn’t I? Or could I? Turns out, I could. I studied. A lot. I took workshops.

And, along the way, I started learning something about myself. I started seeing myself for who I am. I paint intuitively with my hands…with sponges, with crayons, with stencils; with charcoal and alcohol. (Alcohol for the painting; not for me . . . okay, sometimes for me . . . one for the painting; one for me!) I paint after I’ve meditated and gotten in touch with my inner muse. I paint after I have burned sage, listened to music, played on the computer until I can’t stand NOT to paint any more.

I’ve worked with some of the best mind-set trainers and business coaches that I have met. I’ve invested in me. I’ve shed a lot of crap inside that I don’t need and no longer serves me. And as a result, I’ve fallen in love with my creative soul . . . my process and the value that I bring to this beautiful world. My heart is open. So deep. So wide.

I started blogging. I started telling my story. When I was talking with my mentor about the book idea being My Lyrical Journey — How I Painted My Heart Wide Open, I realized that it was pretty much already written. I’d been writing semi-regularly, if you can call writing one week and then not for a few months semi-regular . . . hey . . . that’s the truth. It seemed and seems natural to use my blogs. Each one tells a different story, and even though they might not seem to be cohesive as to how painting opened my heart wide open, they are. Because together they are my story. They reveal how I got to where I am now.

I’ve opened my heart and become transparent in many of these little stories — about my fears, dreams and desires; about disappointments, loss, and hopes. I’ve found courage, strength, love and compassion in places I never knew it would come from. And, as a result . . . I have a story. I have a story of courage, healing and love. It proves that even a small town, conservative, etc., etc. woman can leave a marriage to a wonderful man — because she knew she had/has something to share — and blossom. She can blossom and be happier than she ever knew she could be.

If I can do it . . . anyone can. I never dreamed I’d be an artist. Or a writer. And yet, here I am. Painting and writing. And if, by writing this, I encourage just one person to take a leap of faith . . . then I have made a difference.

As a side note . . . and an FYI . . . the book is a collection of blogs beginning when I first started realizing that art was going to change me. Hell, how it HAS changed me. As I went through all of the blog entries, I realized that I needed to add post-scripts to the majority of them . . . just to help you understand how MUCH this changed my life.

Enjoy . . .