My First Days Of Me



It is hard to explain exactly what happened at the end of this spread. I know what I did to begin, I know the steps I took because I was writing them down as I went, trying to piece together some ideas and force them into a "how-to" bullet list. How soon I forget, the creative flow won't allow for that. How soon I forget, my creativity won't be still long enough for me to capture it. In my forgetting, there is frustration, questioning and sadness. I feel lost, disconnected from the place inside me where my creativity resides.

And then quite suddenly without any knowing, I'm covering parts with black and white paint, I'm using a paper towel (because it was nearby) to rub the paint around, letting it mix; concealing and revealing. I'm using a bamboo skewer and ink and I'm writing my first thought without hesitation, "my first days of me".

Once again, I say hello and thank you to my creativity.

This morning, I feel re-connected, found, at peace once again knowing that I am still in here, I am still alive, I am still me.