When was the last time you tried something new? Or retried something you had already decided you were bad at? I am just now learning to paint with watercolors. What sparked my interest was a gift of innovative watercolor markers. No mixing paints required. No cup of water. Just jump in and shape bold objects with each colorful stroke. Pretty sappy outcomes at first, by trying to paint the expected–flowers and sunsets, and water reflecting sunsets. Sugary even. I needed to expand my imagination. I started looking through travel magazines and online photos by my favorite floral artists and photographers.
Painting may also involve sketching as a base. Each time I begin, I have to talk myself into trying it “just this once”, into putting pencil to paper “even though.” I’ve often joked about my being able to draw fantastic stick figures. At each pediatric doctor check-up, I would cartoon on the examining table paper for my kids to color while waiting and waiting for the doc–they were sure I only figures I knew how to draw were puppies and rabbits, race cars, and “beautiful girls wearing beautiful dresses.” And I was sure that was my repertoire, too. The stories we tell ourselves sometimes lie. I’m actually not so bad, not so limited. Who knew?
Painting is captivating, all-engrossing for me. I cannot think of one person who bugs me while I sketch and paint. For a high-functioning, always-planning leader, that’s a win–and it helps with COVID anxieties we all carry. Yesterday, even though I was sitting at my favorite lake spot, I was restless, perseverating on what ifs and whethers and whens… until I looked out the window and really saw the view before me. An amazingly, ordinary display of light and shadow, color and shape reflected on a lake. I agreed with myself to “just try” to paint it.
Two hours zipped by. I felt calmer than I had in two days, entering into God’s creation in a fresh way. More aware. Spotting a favorite shade of purple hiding in plain sight in the world. Noticing the play of shapes and sunlight, water pooling, squiggling in the wind and reflecting.
My physicist niece explained to me recently that water atoms don’t really move across the entire lake one by one. They cohere. I look out in wonder at what I hardly understand. I pay attention to light and shading, pondering how one would impossibly capture it on paper. If I am barely beginning see the world to paint it, how did God create it? Each atom linked in a spectacular design, connected with each other atom in a wonder of purpose.
I am discovering new ways that I am a creator also, working out of the image of God. This “seeing” leads me to praising and thanking God for the incredible gifts right before me. It leads straight to joy. I “unlie”–I tell a new truth–about who I am as a creator. And I get caught up in possibility.
What about you? What new thing might you try or try again “anyway”? What do you need to “unlie” about?