Reframe Your Artistry

 

The beautiful coworker of mine, Theresa, who became a best friend and role model for me as a mom. Thanks for the amazing share of “The Smallest Girl in the Smallest Grade” by Justin Roberts. 

 

I’ve always wanted to inhabit small spaces. And with my small body, I want to do good things in the largest, quietest way possible. Sounds impossible? Troubled?

Maybe. But a beloved fellow social worker gifted my daughter, “The Smallest Girl in the Smallest Grade,” for her birthday last year. When I opened the book, I met Sally. Hardly anyone noticed, hardly anyone knew that little Sally was paying extra special attention.

One day, she raises her hand in the cafeteria and begs her classmates to stop being mean to one another. She recognizes that the bullies have been bullied themselves. She gets there is conflict and difference and fairness and lack of fairness. But she says, basically, hey – enough is enough.

Choose love. Raise you hand with me. Raise your hand as Sally proclaimed. Enough is enough.

I wish it were that easy. I wish I had more answers. But I’m calling on all y’all Sallys. I know I am not alone, Sally reminded me so. I take up small physical spaces because the world can weigh me down. My own brother does at times. His response to his inner pain boils up into some of the most hurtful and scary ideas I have ever heard. But I understand he is in pain. Those who need the most love can appear the least lovable. He used to keep it in my immediate family, the hurt at least felt contained to the people that also saw the kind, funny, and vulnerable heart he also holds. It is a test, a challenge…a challenge to humanity more than ever. How do we love the pain? How do we heal, now?

What do we need?

We need fewer guns. And more viable mental health care.

We need less standardized tests. And more compassion in our school curriculum.

We need leaders who build us up, instead of tearing us apart.

We need parents who forgive one another as to model forgiveness for their children.

We need more love.

We need to listen to the smallest girl in the smallest grade, as if our lives depend upon it.

 

Two of my favorite muses. My mother, here, inspiring yet another generation of mindful artists. 

Two people are standing in front of a painting by Jackson Pollock. One says genius and the other says a kid could do that. One is reminded of landing in a desert storm and the other dispassionately stares at drips and scribbles. Same painting, two experiences, and all in one family!

Tada, what makes us different makes us stronger. Pollock and these two people have unalike internal experiences when it comes to his art. And that is okay. Mindfulness, tolerance that softens reactivity and judgment, embraces differing creator and audience experiences. A mindful artist works from and reaches out to the universe with an open mind.

We are too varied as a species to force a singular perspective, because of those gosh-darn complicated very human parts of us called the brain and social forces. Our personal story and neurological wiring speaks to us as much, often, as what’s right in front of us.

Many of us miss out on fully showing up for what’s right in front of us because we’re too busy romancing old stories and autopilot biases. Case in point, pondering Pollock. Even though our stories and wiring have a lot to say, we may be doing ourselves, our artistry, and the world a disservice by thinking they get to call all the shots.

Fluid frames of reference resolve disputes over how to interpret art. And all audience opinions may end up winning! The mindful artist that tolerates a variety of audience opinions, proceeding to the beat of her drum regardless, may be the biggest winner.

Wouldn’t the world be a better place if we all tolerated fluid frames of reference on a daily basis?

My mom molded me into a mindful artist without her even labeling it that. She welcomed creativity in whatever form and honored whatever I called my whatever. Bless her heart, she waited til I was a ripe seventeen years old to challenge my point of view after reading my essay on the racist, feminist economics of Barbie.

“I’m not sure I agree with what you’re saying here,” she concluded, “this isn’t Barbie’s fault?”

Anyhow, leaving Barbie out of this, til age seventeen and from every dang year after that,  my mom demonstrated tolerance for the point of view from which my creativity pulled. I have a savage curiosity to get to the why under the because and to challenge norms. It drives many people bonkers. Including myself. But, momma more than tolerated me. She allowed me to develop my own life stance through space to explore and questions (usually) rather than harsh critiques. Among our rich bonds, we’ve developed a shared respect for art-whatever, even if we have very different experiences with whatever has been created.

Play around with fluid frames of reference, today, in honor of my beloved mother’s 70th. Mindful artistry blossoms from the flexibility to do just that. At times, allow an onion to be an onion. As a therapist,  I often hear my husband say, “let a text be a text, don’t read ideas between the words.” Same thing. There is health in simply seeing the onion.

Practice awareness of explicit ideas.

Practice now: just see the onion.

Of course, the brilliance of art is that an onion may symbolize much more. In this way, even side-by-side bananas can be sexy, no matter the shade or degree of spotting. For the writer or poet, onion expressions embody layers beneath the surface or inspiration for bitter tears.

Practice representational awareness.

Practice now: what does an onion mean to you?

Practice now: create a story about the side-by-side bananas.

For farmers, a relationship to an onion’s quite different than the one that top chefs hold. Point of view affects our experience with anything, including art. People may be working with the same onion but vary in their internal processes. And for those who have never seen an onion, what on earth could it possibly be? (To my daughter, they look like, Boobies!)

Practice alternate points of view.

Practice now: challenge yourself to imagine what else the onion could be, completing the     phrase below.

This is not an onion, it’s  ______________

 

And thank you, Brenda Louise Kutz Honig, for sticking to the beat of your wild drum…and raising a mindful artist. You are loved.