This is what my inner child looks like on paper.
Being able to express myself through art is something I'd been longing for. I had always told myself that I'm not good at art (something I learned in school via comments such as "too much use of colour"). I was ok with that until I had my girls and watched them expressing through art. The freedom they had to put their feelings onto paper was something to behold and I found myself wishing I could connect to that place again. A place where I could just allow myself to feel what I feel, pick up a paint brush and allow it to flow out of me without any preconceived notions of what my creation might look like and whether I or anyone else would enjoy looking at it.
Finally I found a workshop that first called us to connect to our bodies and our essence through free flowing movement and then from that space move to tables and create. Surprisingly the first thing I wanted to do was scribble. I just NEEDED to scribble. I needed to scribble and I needed that to be ok and it was. I scribbled my heart out. My crayon went in all directions, at one point I had a crayon in each hand just because I was allowed to. Then quite unexpectedly I cried. I cried a soulful cry. I was so happy to be scribbling and I was so sad that this part of me had been repressed for so long. It was awesome.
Then we moved onto to create a bigger picture of whatever we wanted to. My inner child was so excited that I didn't just create a picture I did 3 and I also did some clay work after that. Straight away I knew I would be painting and I knew that I wanted to paint with my hands. At first I enjoyed painting my hands with a brush just like my 2 year old does. I got to experience the sensory delight of the brush on my skin. Soon my inner child was impatient with that and I was dipping my whole hand into the paint tray, rubbing my hands together and smearing to my hearts delight. I used the brush when I wanted to but often I was drawn back to using my hands. I used colours that jumped out at me. I moved my hands across the paper in any direction they wanted to go. It was so satisfying to see the paint glide from my fingers to the paper. I let colours overlap and felt my eyes widen and my grin spread as I delighted in the new colour that appeared from mixing. It was a soulful experience and liberating.
I had to deal with thoughts popping up like "you're wasting the paint by using your hands!" and "don't use that colour it will look bad" and "that's enough pictures now, you're using up too much paper". I had to push through those thoughts that sought to limit me, that sought to squash my creativity. I had to give them a paint covered middle finger and keep expressing.
Don't let anyone tell you that you can't do art. Art is expression and anyone can express. In this field - our children are the experts. Let them lead the way and PLEASE - let them scribble. It's so much more than lines on paper.
With love
Bron (scribble master)
Being able to express myself through art is something I'd been longing for. I had always told myself that I'm not good at art (something I learned in school via comments such as "too much use of colour"). I was ok with that until I had my girls and watched them expressing through art. The freedom they had to put their feelings onto paper was something to behold and I found myself wishing I could connect to that place again. A place where I could just allow myself to feel what I feel, pick up a paint brush and allow it to flow out of me without any preconceived notions of what my creation might look like and whether I or anyone else would enjoy looking at it.
Finally I found a workshop that first called us to connect to our bodies and our essence through free flowing movement and then from that space move to tables and create. Surprisingly the first thing I wanted to do was scribble. I just NEEDED to scribble. I needed to scribble and I needed that to be ok and it was. I scribbled my heart out. My crayon went in all directions, at one point I had a crayon in each hand just because I was allowed to. Then quite unexpectedly I cried. I cried a soulful cry. I was so happy to be scribbling and I was so sad that this part of me had been repressed for so long. It was awesome.
Then we moved onto to create a bigger picture of whatever we wanted to. My inner child was so excited that I didn't just create a picture I did 3 and I also did some clay work after that. Straight away I knew I would be painting and I knew that I wanted to paint with my hands. At first I enjoyed painting my hands with a brush just like my 2 year old does. I got to experience the sensory delight of the brush on my skin. Soon my inner child was impatient with that and I was dipping my whole hand into the paint tray, rubbing my hands together and smearing to my hearts delight. I used the brush when I wanted to but often I was drawn back to using my hands. I used colours that jumped out at me. I moved my hands across the paper in any direction they wanted to go. It was so satisfying to see the paint glide from my fingers to the paper. I let colours overlap and felt my eyes widen and my grin spread as I delighted in the new colour that appeared from mixing. It was a soulful experience and liberating.
I had to deal with thoughts popping up like "you're wasting the paint by using your hands!" and "don't use that colour it will look bad" and "that's enough pictures now, you're using up too much paper". I had to push through those thoughts that sought to limit me, that sought to squash my creativity. I had to give them a paint covered middle finger and keep expressing.
Don't let anyone tell you that you can't do art. Art is expression and anyone can express. In this field - our children are the experts. Let them lead the way and PLEASE - let them scribble. It's so much more than lines on paper.
With love
Bron (scribble master)
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