Just Paint Over Yourself Already!

This morning when my 3-year-old son asked me to join him in painting, I did not expect it to be such a profound experience. As I turned on the "appropriate music" for such a task, my son had already begun filling his white canvas with white paint. I silently judged him. In fact, most of his white paint had be depleted and his sweet eyes begged, "mommy, more please." It began as a bonding experience: matching brush strokes, exchanging ideas, and additional requests for "more white please, mommy." He began with Impressionistic textured short strokes, proceeded to slap the canvas like Jackson Pollock in frivolity before returning to long strokes that seemingly erased the madness. I sat there watching the freedom he gave himself, relishing in the joy he had in trusting his impulses.

The canvas I stared at, on the other hand, had been in my closet for nearly 6 months; untouched, unfinished, and unpolished by my inner critics voice. 

Still not happy after 2nd cover

My son's invitation this morning permitted me the freedom to release my chains, to silence those judges, and be present with him. I began to drift away into the story of my painting. I saw the transformation of colors, the corrections I wanted to make, and the additions. I became acutely aware of how the brushes and I were inseparable. 

In the long strokes I deleted away the worries and cares of the past year. I understood that while I could not go back and scrape the paint off, I could always restart. I looked at my canvas and acknowledged that not once, but twice had I painted over it. Originally it was a "lollipop style tree" done at a Paint Nite with friends. The first "I don't like that" came with the mountains and then the second one came with the background (See it above).  It reminded me that I always have the liberty to be gentle with myself and try again. In the colors that were muddled or ill-matched, I found the courage to search my color wheel and create what I saw in my mind. I am not bound by anyone's opinions. It reminded me that my mind is a powerful tool. I am in control of myself, my words, and reactions. I have the ability to create that which I think and believe. With the texture of my canvas, I found the freedom to express. As an amateur painter, I frequently am caught up with the do's and do not's of painting. In silencing those "rules," it has become easier to accept my paintings and myself. This allowed me to discover that I am the master of my own destiny and that I must accept responsibility for the actions I take and the consequence that are accompanied with them. 

Paintings can teach us a multitude about the artist, their period of life, and frame of mind when we spend time with their work. My final lesson I wish to share is about stepping back. I am in a love/loathe relationship with painting because it reminds me to step away from the details of life and breathe. At times, I must literally stand up and look at my painting, yet I feel like I do not have the luxury of stopping. But that is what painting has taught me. I am on no one's time but my own. It's a great testament to patience. 

It has taught me that I cannot see the beauty of the entire forest if I only look at the dried up creek bed.

My painting and this week's Torah portion ties in beautifully with the Jewish goal of preparation during Elul. This week's portion Ki Tavo extols that each time we are a recipient of something - a gift, a special token from a grandparent, are aware of our health/our life, a blessing from our Rebbe, our intelligence, a chance to restart, an intervention from the Divine- we should react as if it were our first time stepping into eretz Israel. Every moment we have is sacred, is precious and in remembering this we become grateful. Gratefulness cultivates v'hayah, joy, which continuously opens us to repeated blessings. Celebrate with fruit of the new season and bring it to your sukkah at the start of Sukkot. Or perhaps, take it to the forest and leave it there so you can give life to another. 

Ask yourself, what is beyond the painted line? What lies within the forest waiting just for me? How can I graciously verbalize my gratefulness to the Divine in my life. 

© DNKG 2015 Unknown Pathways

20x16 Acrylic on Canvas

© DNKG 2015 Paint Yourself Already

Community Comportment: Cogitating Global Disenchantment

What would our
Mothers say
if they could see
us now,
dancing and frolicking
in palaces for patricians,
where the
granite and stone
mirror its
icy hearth.

What would our
Mothers say
if they could see
us now,
indifferent
with sighted eyes
that bare witness
to the outstretched
arms and bodies,
sooted black
like the
cavernous vaults
that house
apathetic hearts.

What would our
Mothers say
if they could see
us now,
as a bountiful
earth teeming
with orchards, fruits
of the Divine
now transformed
to a wasteland
of oil riggers,
sky high risers, and
Flesh abandoned
on the shores.

What would our
Mother's say
if they could see
us now,
as people lie
slain in
streets, bazaars, fields,
from rockets,
or guns, or bombs
sustained on
egotistical
hatred.
Coordinates for peace
dissipating
in a world
divided by
"Unity".

What would our
Mothers say
if they could see
us now,
ravaging lands
to cache bootless
treasure
from the decrepit
and exhausted.
Automatons
with electric wires,
buzzing displays,
programmed to
HALT
thinking,
perceiving,
feeling.

What would our
Mothers say
if they could see
us now,
squandering
our lives
under sheaths of golden
brillance
While the streets scream
and avenues bleed,
We, a heartless
shapeless mould.

What would our
Mothers say
if they could see
us now,
picking sides
like children do
to answer a man's call;
rather than rising
with arms of love
beckoning, prostrate
for Divinity
to enter us all.

© 2014 DNKG Community Comportment: Cogitating Global Disenchantment

Canyons and Chasms: Facing the Unknown

As I gazed out of my trapezoid casement windows, I noticed a tiny red-throated finch sitting alone in the laurel tree. It flitted from branch to branch struggling to master the art of flying. I judged the bird; after all, birds are innate flyers my mind mocked. It flapped and flailed from the windowsill to the branch, to a leaf and back to the windowsill. It came to the highest eave, fluffed its plumage, and burrowed its head to rest.

This beautiful creature reminded me of an important spiritual bridge: embracing the unknown. When the finch rose this morning, it did not know whether or not it would return to the nest a successful flyer. It did not know whether it would taste the air of freedom or remain a prisoner to its current predicament. All it knew was its present moment.

We are all consumed with moments of unknowing. Intrinsically hidden and tucked out of sight, at the base of the unknown, is fear. For our finch, we imagine the fears it may feel. Perhaps it is a fear of falling, of being damaged, or even of not knowing where to go should it succeed.

Life’s journeys are demanding. As humans striving for acceptance and love, we place additional pressures upon ourselves to perform better and stronger than ever before. We push ourselves to cross into the unknown before we even have a chance to slow down and explore what that unknown is. We leap into chasms and canyons without bottom and are filled with dread when we realize how deep we are in.

As I ponder this, a gentle peck upon the window pulls me back into the present. I smile and realize that even from our chasms, when faith is hanging dangerously by a thread, the Creator is always present. It is in these tiny moments where cultivating gratefulness triggers a spark of hope. Like the path the finch traverses, crossing those unknown paths means simply reaffirming our faith in that spiritual Source which is greater than ourselves.

DNKG Unknown © 2014