Yesterday I finally got around to spending my Christmas gift money. I have had to learn how to spend money on myself without guilt. It hasn't been easy. But yesterday I came out of a store with watercolour paints in every which way. Watercolour crayons, pencil crayons and tubes of paint too. Paper, brushes and books of how-to.
I have always loved the softness of watercolour paintings. As my children were growing up I would often draw their attention to this medium used to illustrate the oodles of picture books we read. I am full of creativity but not artistic ability. It has been a gift to have learned to simply trust my instinct when it comes to drawing the pictures that come to mind about how I am feeling. I have enjoyed putting them on paper. I have thoroughly enjoyed the lack of inner critic when it comes to what the picture looks like. Me, who has a hard time drawing a stick figure, am comfortable expressing myself in colourful images instead of only in colourful language.
Last night I experimented a bit with the tubes of paint. What a delight to see brush strokes applied to paper, full of the hope of beautiful images and transparent emotions waiting to be born. I love that these colours can be vibrant or soft.
I don't know where the energy of perfectionism has gone in my life. It's increasing absence is the best new feeling I've ever had.