i begin this morning...with one simple question:
if you were the only person on this earth, what would you do?
would you sing? would you dance on the nearest theater stage? would you go into your garage, dig out your old typewriter and start pounding away on your first book? would you find the closest pottery studio, and begin sculpting? would you paint? would you cook or bake?
what would you do?
if there was no one else but you...where would you find yourself?
honestly? truthfully, and whole-heartedly...where would you find contentment and truth while alone.
my answer?
i would head straight to my studio and paint. nothing else but paint...when my arms grew tired...i'd write. i'd write about the loves of my live with honesty, brashness and passion. i would write about my soul and the depths of it i've reached...and those corners i'm still too afraid to approach. then, i'd create those words all over again in paint.
my only breaks would find me wondering the streets for bookstores...to read the words of those before me who've poured their souls out. our walking out to my backyard to work the earth...planting my food. i'd bake for nourishment...i'd bake myself something to eat...only when i could pry myself from the easel and brush...when my bones weren't too sore from working the earth...
i'd cry. i'd laugh....and i'd create my beautiful children, husband and family over and over again in paint...i'd paint them on the walls...i'd stuff their clothes into scarecrows...and sculpt their faces in clay. i'd hug them and love them...gather up their souls and smells from the clothes they left...the joy of my children left in their toys...
...the spirit of my daughter left in her beloved "elephant" that she sleeps with every night.
...the warm love and compassion of my son in his "blankies" and stuffed pets that he totes around
...the strength and dedication of my husband, embodied in his shoes...those he stands in day after day...as he goes to work...thinking nothing of himself, but only of providing for and caring for his family...
i'd travel hours on foot to l.a.
once at my mother's home...i'd pick up every piece of strength she left around...the colors of her life, the lesson...the losses...the love...
i'd find myself at my grandmother's home...i'd languish in the small house where she's raised, nurtured and strengthened a family...for half a century...i'd study her clean house...and finger her pressed sheets and pillowcases...feeling years and years of love and dedication between my fingers...
after consuming all i could...i'd get to the top of the nearest mountain.
whether it be dirt and water...grass glued to a stray piece of wood or bark...however, i'd paint the reality of my life...
i'd paint the reality of my life....in words...in colors...in textures, in shapes....in symbols...in curse words, in love...
i'd paint the reality of my life.
if i am meant to create...if all artist are meant to create, scientist to cure...doctor's to aid...teacher's to teach....
if this is our life's purpose...or gift from God that we and only we were destined to do (that which is our path)...
and we don't.
we don't do that which we know we were meant to do...
we are not only damaging ourselves...we are damaging our families...our children, each other, the world...humanity...we are slapping our God in the face...we are spitting on our angels who seek to guide us, and - we are damming ourselves.
I'll leave you with a most poignant quote, which i got from the wonderful book that awakened me to the war and purpose of art:
"creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. it's a gift to the world and every being in it. don't cheat us of your contribution. give us what you've got."
-steven pressfield, the war of art
i will quit cheating. i hope you will to.
paz....kiandra
