What Drawing Feels Like…

Some days, as I fly around doing all the things my life carries me to do, I feel a bit like a kite.  I’m flying, yes! But I’m also at the mercy of the winds and weather, which are ever changing.

Drawing feels like the kite string…the tether that holds me to home and family, love and light.  Without this life-line, I would fly off into the stratosphere.

At the end of particularly heavy-wind-fighting days, I sit down with pen in hand and I draw.  I mark the lines of the tether, following the contours of objects or people nearby.  And I find that the wind dies down a bit, my racing heart-beat slows, and my wind-burned cheeks stop stinging.

I like flying.  I do.  I’m just really glad there’s string…and home on the other end of it.  A lovely metaphor for life, yes indeed.

**Addendum: There are times when drawing feels like the string that ALLOWS me to fly!  When my nose is put to the domestic grindstone too much, drawing has a way of letting me breathe a bit, lift my sights beyond the end of my nose, and fly.  Other times, I need the tether, holding me fast when life feels like it just might fly apart!

Spring Musings

So much “Life” is being lived in my  neck of the woods, that I’ve had extremely little time to draw this past week.  It’s not a pretty sight…this over-committed life of mine.  As I drove around, hither and yon, I made drawings in my head.  And that, at least, counts for something.

I couldn’t help noticing there are two kinds of forsythia bushes in our neighborhood.  One forsythia bush splashes out yellow in all directions, like a water-sprinkler gone wild.  Other bushes are clipped into shape- round, or haphazard, but nevertheless, forced into containment.

I, myself, prefer the exuberant water-sprinkler kind!  Yes, yes, I know all that about trimming them to make ’em bloom more.  But it seems to me, in this particular bush, that leaving it to it’s vibrant, whimsical growth allows it to shine in a way that the stubby ones can’t.  I wanted so much to go around the neighborhood, placing little signs beside the stubby forsythia bushes, begging “whomever”, to stop clipping them so.

As my busy week droned on, I realized I was seeing myself in the stubby, clipped-back forsythia bushes.  My busyness, which is largely made up of things I myself have committed to, functions as a pair of clippers in my life, lopping off exuberance one branch at a time.  Why I’m not able to see this at the time I commit to all these crazy things, is beyond me.  But I’m determined to make a change.

I think I really do need a sign in my yard, in my house, next to the phone, the computer, and my cell phone to remind me “NOT to clip the exuberance!”

Would you like one too?