DEEP and Dancing with Joy

Once more, I decided to walk the Fearless painting path with some of my painting tribe and Connie from Dirty Footprints Studio and signed up for the follow up to BIG, which I took in the summer.

This round of Fearless painting prompts and guidance urges us to take the plunge and go DEEP. Into ourselves, our paintings, our mysteries and our painting practices. We're into Week 4 already, but as I've been so wrapped up with the incredible experiences of working with these prompts and painting as well as day to day things and working through my shock and grief over Superstorm Sandy's devastation of New Jersey I haven't shared much here. I haven't shared much on the DEEP forums this time around either, like I did with BIG, but as I'm still processing some of the paintings and how they evolved and what they stemmed from... I'm not going to beat myself up over it.

That all said, I've carved out some time while Week 3's painting sits patiently on my wall, waiting for me to come add more to it (slowly, slowly are these paintings coming along, as you can tell if you caught that I said we're into Week 4, I'm working about a week behind.) I'm going to share my piece and process from Week 1. Connie prompted us to begin our journey through DEEP with a clear mind and to invite in Joy. She asked us to Begin as we wish to continue; powerful words that I'm trying to apply to day to day life as well.

So, here's Joy, with text (and comments) copied from my blog on the DEEP forum:

It was funny, starting out on Week 1's prompt which was to Begin as we wish to continue and to invite Joy into our paintings as I was not in the best of moods. I was suffering from a mild bought of depression and extremely stressed over work and when I finally had the opportunity to sit down and watch the video I turned it off when Connie said to do so if you weren't fulled present or were staring at the clock. She caught me - I was trying to cram it in before work and was looking at the video time and the clock going 'this is going to be cutting it close...'

And so, my paper hung on the wall for another day and I waited until I could be fully present to watch and to begin, rain clouds and all. And as soon as the video was over, I put on my current favorite Pandora radio station (Modern Folk) and closed my eyes to grab the first color. I do this frequently; let my hand randomly choose the color I'll be sketching in. I squirted the teal into the palette and just began to move my arm in time with the music, tapping my foot all the while. First a big swoop and a swirl, a big oval and some more swirls - out of the swoops and swirls emerged one chubby woman, shimmying to the music!

The fill colors I picked without a second guess; if my hand grabbed purple, I went with it. The same with yellow and red. As I was swooping across her body in purples,'I Will Wait' by Mumford and Sons came on and I remember dancing more than painting, singing along and whooping, slapping my thighs and dancing with the brush - I love to dance, I love to sing, especially with such moving music! It wasn't until the song ended and segued into something slower that I realized I had tears streaming down my face, dripping on to my chest and mingling with the paint on the palette. I went with it, let it go, bawled my eyes out until my breathing came ragged and my chest was heaving and when I was spent, I smiled. It was the strangest thing - the biggest grin spread across my face, my cheeks hurt, eyes swollen and I just started to laugh - not the sort of laugh that would lead anyone to think I was a nutcase (unless they had witnessed the tears and subsequent laughter maybe) but the sort of laugh that springs from the belly during times of great release.

This chunky goddess, with her big old belly, mismatched breasts and infectious smile gifted me with something - catharsis and Joy. If you asked me what I let go of in that moment, in those minutes of crying and laughing, I could not say for sure. But there was a decided weight removed from my shoulders and I spent the remainder of my time with her dancing and smiling, waving the paintbrush like a conductor and letting her direct the bright, crazy colors she called for me to use.

I haven't taken her off the wall to put up my new paper yet, because she's going to move someplace where she can shine her light on everyone in my home as often as she can. So when the rainclouds move in, we can catch her grin and smile back.

Comments from my tribe sisters, so I can keep and cherish them always:

Comment by Deborah
I don't know whether I like the painting or your description of painting more. They are both so filled with your life force, your exuberance, your shifts and turns and squeals and hip slaps. thank you for brightening my day.

Comment by Shauna
what a great description of your process and how this painting came to life. thanks for sharing it. truly your exuberance jumps out of this painting!

Comment by Cinda
Yes, Thank you the story of a fearless painter - Yes, indeed, you went with the flow and my fingers tingle just thinking about. She is beautiful - Thank you !!!!

Comment by Sharon
Thank you for sharing your journey with this beautiful goddess that you painted. Not only did it put a huge smile in my heart..your comment about not being a nutcase was priceless. I admire your willingness to allow and be with what was moving through you. I am reminded of the preciousness of being with what is....and the gift it offers.

Comment by Sharon
Danielle, I just wanted again to say thank you for sharing your heart. While painting this afternoon, I felt an opening in me....and I think your process (or what was released)....somehow helped me (you came to mind while it was happening). Since what we shift is "in the energy field" I felt lighter and open to paint differently.

Comment by Sarah
Yes... thank you...I remember back in those 10 minutes before Annies news I was just beginnig to dance but was really conscious i wanted to cry and was somehow stopping myself from really feeling because of a resistance to the tears...then the cancer shock and 3 days of tears.

One of my students started crying in the middle of a lesson this week ( I privately tutor kids mostly in primary school...help with maths /english/whatever comes up ..but mostly confidence...I always have all my art 'toys' with me )...by the end of the lesson we were painting the line "our tears are the water for the garden we grow" and he was feeling much better...(girlfriend issues!)

Comment by Melissa
Danielle, I fell in love with your dancing girl the second I saw her! She just radiates such joy it's incredible!! I love your honest sharing and am so thrilled that you ran the gambit of emotions and came out lighter and even more joyous. Your enthusiasm screams off the screen. I'm smiling so wide that my cheeks hurt! Thankyou so much for sharing so honestly. xx

Comment by Connie
DANIEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLEEE!!

Thank you for sharing your process--your heart--your open and amazing painting. I love that you have such a deep connection to music--and how it moves through you and aids your process in such a deep and transformative way. I love that you let yourself feel what you were feeling--but opened yourself and released all the junky junk too.

This is great stuff women--and thank you for honoring your own process by not cramming it in. You are worth every moment of your glorious life--live more--cram less!

BIG Hugs,
Connie

What It Feels Like to Be Me

Week 5 of BIG was our first time going really big with our paintings. We were asked to tape at least 2 sheets of paper together, but to go even bigger if that's what we wanted to do. I taped 4 pieces of paper together and tacked them to the wall. Throwing caution to the wind and just going for it. I was even considering doing 6 pages when *bam!* my packing tape ran out. Guess the universe wanted me to take big old baby steps.

The theme for the week was to paint 'what it feels like to be me.' Not really literally, in the sense that we were to sit down and paint portraits, but to hold that thought in our hearts as we worked and to let our intuition guide us 100%. To slap whatever popped into our heads on to the paper without worrying about where it was going to go, or what color it should be. If our inner selves wanted it on there, then just slap it on there! Connie even gave us a guided meditation to listen to before we started painting (but after our space was set up) to get us all loosened up and in the right mindset. Here's how my painting went, again this is copied from my BIG journal, so if it reads a bit oddly, sorry!

When I sat down to do the guided relaxation, an image of a lounging woman with a single wing behind her sprang into my mind and I held it tight until I was able to get her onto the paper.

As I put her on the page, I just let whatever else wandered into my mind end up on there as well. The entire process of painting her was very loose and free form. I grabbed paints without looking or really over thinking the colors and just let my hand lead the brush where it needed to go. I shaded and layered paints because that's how I enjoy painting and.. I did probably about 60% of this painting with my fingers. It felt deliciously deviant in a way and I found myself giggling - while I blend with my fingers fairly often, with a painting of this size, I got to blend with my palms and the sides of my hands too!

While I was working things morphed from their original areas, some things were lost and others simply moved. As I was painting I kept asking myself - are you doing this for the looks or because it makes it feel more like you? And if it was for the looks, I left it be. If it felt more authentic and true to myself to move or get rid of it, then I did so. Like that big old skull in her hair. If you look at the third picture, you'll see that I tried reshaping it with bright green into not a bird skull - I didn't *want* a bird skull with the wing right there, because to me, it looked like a giant bird had landed on my head. So I tried to force it to change and you know what? It refused. No matter what shape I tried to use, it looked funny. Even after studying and copying a deer skull, it still felt and looked funny to me. So in the end, the bird skull that showed up originally is what ended up in the painting. Because my gut refused to take any flack from my brain.

Throughout the process, I tried not to over think or analyze what was going on the paper or why - I just trusted that so long as I held 'how does it feel to be me?' in my heart, my intuition would guide me in the right direction. I was talking to my husband about the painting at one point and laughingly told him that it's a good thing that I was going with my gut, because if I had gotten this prompt before I opened myself up to painting fearlessly (and just for little old me - not a class, client or the world) then one of two things would have happened: You would have gotten a little black raincloud with a coffee cup on it's head surrounded by bees (one of my totem animals) or a literal picture of me making the appropriate face for my mood. Not whoever this cool looking chick on the paper was. Honestly? I like her better; she makes me feel awesome. ;)

It's taken me an entire week for this painting to tell me 'put the brush down and step away from the paper, I'm ready to be taken down.' I've been looking at the colors and shapes, at the birds and the stars and the lack of definition going on with her (my?) left hand and just sitting with it. Not really thinking about it, because I don't want to force meaning onto things - I want it to come to me organically over time. I look at the lotus flowers and scratch my head - I've never painted those before. Ever. I don't even know what they symbolize, truth be told. But mostly, I just look at it as a whole and feel my heart swell.

That said though, she's been sitting in my living room, pinned to the wall the whole time I've been working and it's been a bit odd having people stop by and hang out while a part of me was just lounging around naked and definitely exposed in the room. But I think she knew she was destined to get a frame and hang somewhere permanently, so she was most likely just getting me ready for that revelation. I'm usually self conscious about the stuff I make for just me, so it only hangs in my studio... well, used to only hang in my studio. This woman, demands to be seen and heard and honestly? I'm ludicrously proud of her and by association, proud of myself for taking this journey through this painting course and for creating her.

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Since I finished her, she's been lounging about on the large wall behind the tv in the living room. As soon as Joe gets his table saw back from the shop, he's going to build her a frame so she can be held up in a nicer manner than thumb tacks. I've also spent a lot of time looking at her, counting things in the painting. Unsurprisingly, the number 13 is in there. But there's also 10, 4 and 9. There's a key and a brush and a vine in her hair and a teeny moon on her forehead, just above the heart. I'm not sure why, but she makes me think of the midwest, of the dessert. She makes me think of a shaman and I wonder if in some way, her undefined hand isn't pointing the way for me on this crooked pagan path of mine. Urging me into deeper spirituality.

As we spend more time together, I know she'll tell me more. But for now, I just want to bask in the glow of finishing something that I love so very, very much. Which - if you can all keep a secret- is pretty rare for me to feel about any art of my own.

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Just pasting the comments I received on her from the BIG forums here, so that when it ends and we are removed from ning to make way for the next tribe of painters, I can keep them and cherish them. I've grown to admire and love my fellow painters; I will definitely miss them when this is over.

Comment by Amie on August 5, 2012 at 7:37pm
Love it Danielle! I really love the story of the picture lounging in front of company! I enjoyed reading about your process. It is interesting how some things just want to be there, because we listen to our gut! I too found it freeing to just paint, listen and paint some more!

Comment by Julie on Tuesday
" I love that you have such courage! It shows in the statement: "Because my gut refused to take any flack from my brain." IMPRESSIVE!!!!

Comment by Connie Hozvicka on Wednesday
I love that you were able to channel your deep intention to paint FEARLESS and to really understand the innate wisdom inside you through this painting. That's what I see so strongly coming through--a woman that has clarity of purpose when it comes to her spiritual journey--and sure--you meet some obstacles and unknown territory along the way--but you are kind, but stern with yourself, in staying the path.

That's what I see when I read your words and look at your gorgeous painting.

Wow! Wow sums it up!! And I wish I could just jump through the screen and give you a big ol' hug!

Connie

Fearless Painting, Memory and the Enduring Heart

We've just finished week 3 of BIG, A Fearless Painting Adventure and I've thrown myself so completely into the process and the painting, as well as taking the time to really love, heal and reconnect myself to the things I need that I haven't shared anything about it yet. When time is sparse, you can only do so much, sadly.

But tonight, I find myself with a glass of wine and an empty house (save the husband and animals, who are all curled up on the couch in the other room) since my friends have gone home and I figure it's time to share a bit. I've been sharing my experiences with the other gals who make up the current BIG Tribe, so I'm going to share the same experiences with all of you now. This is going to be long and very emotional, fair warning. Some bits have been copied and pasted from my original postings on the BIG forums, so they may read a little oddly.

For background, the first week of BIG was spent scribbling, doodling and generally getting into the groove of letting our intuitions guide our brushes, to let go of over inflated expectations and to get comfortable with the process. We also became familiar with our fear gremlins, those little voices inside of us that tell us something is ugly, or stupid, to give up or not to share this and that - the voice that stifles as it attempts to protect us. Now, what I'm going to share is my painting and process for week 2. Connie, our fearless leader, asked that we work with Memory in our first real, honest and fearless BIG painting. To just pick a memory, the first one that comes to mind or the one that keeps reappearing and popping in to say hello!

I watched the intro and the first video, popped over to the first discussion and read through it. My paper was out and ready to go and I closde my eyes, let my mind go and waited to see what the first memory that comes across my mind is because that, THAT is the one I'm going to paint...

And my mind goes blank. There are memories there in the depths of my mind, oh are there ever. Big bright shiny ones and deep dark terrifying ones but none jump forth and say 'paint me!' So I wait some more. Then I distract myself with some music, who knows? Maybe in setting up this small ritual I've scared them off, over thought them without even realizing it. Hours go by and nothing. I wait to hear something... yet nothing comes.

There are the obvious ones I could go for, like getting married, buying a house - you know, big life things. But when I think about using them for the project I get this feeling in my gut that says, nah. Not this one. Keep waiting.

When I decided to undertake this adventure, it was partially in order to break down my difficulty in not overthinking things, to learn how to trust and to let go of total control and expectations of the finished product. While I'm not consciously aware of doing any of these things while waiting for my memory to come, I wonder if they aren't hindering me somehow just the same. I continued to wait and sat down at the desk in my studio, opened youtube and this song was in my recommended que (not sure why - I suppose the Universe needed me to hear it.)



My guts churned, I cried. I knew what I needed to paint.

I'll admit, I was (and still am) a bit scared to share my memory painting. Opening myself up wide and laying my innards bare and raw for people I've 'just met' to see isn't something I do, ever. (Hell, sharing this level of myself with people I know well is rare.) So, I'm taking a fearless leap here, one of faith and of trust and I'm going to share the process and the memory here - to let it and myself be seen.

I was caught up in choosing a memory, but it was given to be by the universe in a song and a rush of clenched guts and tears. I know that it was said that we didn't need to dive into a deep, dark, heavy memory as we get our toes wet in the water of fearless painting... but that's what my guts, my soul, the gods above brought forth from the depths for me to work with. And I did.

The memory dredged up wasn't a one time event, but rather a period in time. In my late teens, my small world shattered around me. I was in an abusive relationship, my parents were divorcing and kept putting me in the middle of their spats as referee and bargaining chip, my younger siblings clung to me for love and stability. I fell into an incredibly dark and desperate place, barely clinging to any real will to continue to exist... I began to self hurt. Or cut myself, in more blunt terms. Over the course of those few years, I covered myself with hundreds of marks, always hidden by clothing as they bled and subsequently healed. 8 years after the last time, I still have 22 very visible scars just on my forearms and wrists, which people seem to be drawn to ask about. When they do, I become uncomfortable and nervous, worried they'll judge me for something that is long past. Terrified they'll look at me as 'one of those crazy people'. I decided to follow my gut and paint this time period in order to attempt to lay to rest those feelings and make peace with my past.

I put the song back on as I chose my colors; grey, grey-blue, blue, red. I let the tears fall as I sketched the shape on the paper. Hunched, cross armed, trying to maintain a small shape in the large space.

I just let it roll out of me and then, I added the heart. My fear gremlin went wild - she was livid and terrified all at once. How dare I expose my heart? Isn't that why I existed in that dark place, to shelter myself from further hurt? Isn't that why I hurt myself - to relieve the emotional pain? To remind myself that I was still alive and could feel?

I poured her a glass of wine and we cried together. I held her close and told her it would be OK. To trust me and our gut. She hid behind me as I began to fling blue onto the background. Grabbing red next, I slathered it over the blue. As I painted, I wanted to get physical with the process, so I tossed my brush aside and went at it with my hands and fingers - mushing red into blue, creating bruised purples. (In retrospect, I think my sub-conscious was putting the colors of my hurts onto the paper, as I was always badly bruised around the cuts afterwards.) Barely stopping, I grabbed the gray and began to fill in the body - as I covered the heart, my gremlin sighed in relief. It was safe, hidden - protected. As it should be.

Dipping my fingers in red, I cut at the wrist and the chest, swooped outlines around the figure in vibrant blood tones. Looking at the wrist I felt revulsion and tried to cover it back up with gray, resulting in a pink mess. My gremlin was upset but my gut said to put the red back and taking a deep breath, I listened.

Quieting my mind and the gremlin for a moment, I really dig deep and let my guts talk to me. I cry again, the sort of deep, heaving cathartic cry that comes on when you've been holding something in too long. I let the music in the background wash over me (I had a playlist on, not the same song on repeat just in case anyone was worried I was torturing myself) as I sat on the floor and cried. The gremlin came back over, patted my shoulder, trying to tell me I'd revealed too much - see? It told me I'd get hurt. I understand that it's trying to help me out, to look out for me, but I shoo her away. Not unkindly, but firmly. We need to do this, my guts have never, ever steered me wrong when I've taken the time to really listen to them.

And now, my guts tell me to get up and paint. I've got a lot of work to do. I grab a dark brown and add in hair, straight and stringy, falling forward to obscure some of the face; yet another safety mechanism that I only recognize in retrospect. Taking out the black, I give her big, bold outlines. My gremlin pops up again - 'That's not your style!! That's not how you paint!! She's cartoony, ugly!' I shush her again, after all, this isn't my typical subject matter nor is it a particularly pretty memory. I keep on, this part of me, this woman on the paper - she wants to be seen. She NEEDS to be seen. And big bold lines catapult her into view, where she cannot be ignored or pushed aside.

Stepping back a moment, I don't want to cry - for the first time since starting this. I don't feel lost, miserable, ashamed when I look at her though there is still some melancholy there. A sort of heavy eerie feeling down in my bowels. My gut chimes in, since my goblin has washed her hands of this - I'm not listening to her anyway - informing me to paint white circles in the background. I get to work, filling half the background with them before my gut says 'stop!' Step away and stop. And I do. I clean up my brushes and leave her, knowing somehow that she's not quite done with me yet.

As I look at her, she strikes me as sort of pretty and sort of powerful. Maybe not in a traditional sense, because there's a lot of pain and darkness surrounding her, but she's sort of light upon the page. Like a bright spot. And those circles, they make me feel hopeful when I look at them.

I let her sit on the easel in the studio for a day and a half. Friday, when I was on my lunch break journaling about this painting (she's taken up 10 pages in my composition book so far) I realized I was excited to see her. To get home and ask her what she needed, to work with her. The 4 hours of work were the slowest I can recall in recent history, not work volume wise, but to my rapidly spinning mind and needy heart.

When I bounded into the studio and grabbed my palette, my heart shouted 'Grab the red and the the yellow! And your favorite color blue! Oh, and white too!' And I did. Adding deeper hues of shadow to her, giving her more definition and somehow, despite blue being very melancholy - brightening her up a bit. I scribbled yellows and whites around her side, a sort of aura of hopeful energy - a sign that there was still so much life in her. A will to continue, to live. And then, my gut and heart whispered the most important part conspiratorially to me, quietly, so as not to wake and anger the sleeping gremlin. The finishing touch, the final lesson that she has to hand me:

To live, to let my heart beat fierce and free. That time is over with and not only did I live, I thrived despite all the anguish and pain. I pulled myself out of that darkness and rose like a phoenix into a new life, in which I wanted to let love back in to my heart. And how can you do that, if you lock it away?

This process, this painting, helped me in ways I can't even quite express right now because I am still absorbing it all. I plan to pin her to my wall for a while, to let her lessons sink in further, to have her help in overcoming the last remnants of shame I feel over my past like a great guardian angel birthed from a black seed in myself. My gremlin is pursing her lips at me for sharing all of this, worrying how this will be judged and for right now, I'm ignoring her and feeling so very, very free.

This journey, this adventure, has been bigger for me than I ever expected. I'm not learning new techniques, not fussing over the outcomes. Just letting the the process take me where it will... and it is an exhausting, magical, spiritual, beautiful process.

Comments from my fellow fearless painters, whose support and love I will cherish always.

Comment by Connie Hozvicka on July 16, 2012 at 3:04pm
DANIELLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

First, I have to whole heartedly--with every drip of my Soul--acknowledge the incredible courage and bravery and pure genuine FEARLESSness it took to share so openly from your heart. I feel so honored and humbled to experience your process aside you. Thank you for letting me in--letting us all in. I feel healed on some level of my own life as well by traveling through this with you.

She is beautiful. You are beautiful. Your story of rising above so much darkness in your life is beautiful.

Wonder how much a ticket to South Carolina would run me?! I'd love to wrap my arms around ya in a BIG hug!

Sending you so much LOVE!
Connie

Comment by Michelle Turbide on July 13, 2012 at 5:53pm

I can't even speak I am so blown away by your courage not only to explore this memory for yourself but to be so open and honest in sharing it with all of us. Thank you so much for letting us know you in this way. I feel blessed to be a part of your process.

Comment by Colleen McCarthy on July 13, 2012 at 3:53pm

Thank you for being so courageous and sharing your story. And especially for ignoring that gremlin - Lovelovelove you!

Comment by Sharon Bode on July 13, 2012 at 1:02pm

...right now, you are very much loved. Thank you...for sharing your pain, your tears and...your heart.