I had been thinking about trying watercolour painting for a while before I ordered the two Matthew Palmer books just three weeks ago, but I was nervous that my “art” would resemble that of the typical four year old. This time last year I was amazing myself with running and writing poetry, and now I’m amazing myself with art. But more than that, as with running and poetry, I’m enjoying the process.
I’m enjoying reading about art, learning the techniques, practicing.
I’m enjoying the peace and stillness of being in the moment, of thinking only of what I’m drawing or painting.
As with running and writing, art gives me a sense of achievement and increases my confidence.
Old me (before cancer) would have been too self-critical, too judgemental, too embarrassed, too scared to share my poetry or art with the world. Old me would have been too timid to join running club, or to submit my poetry to publishers. Old me would have felt she didn’t fit in and would have worried about what people thought of me, and my amatuer efforts at running, writing, painting. Old me would not have joined an art class or become a member of an art society.
Old me never knew what she was missing out on.
I’ve had a tough week, not the worst ever, but difficult enough to make me question the future. A week that derailed my plans for the year and left me without direction.
But despite the difficulties, I leave this week with hope and the beginnings of a new plan.