A couple of weeks ago my husband and I gave each other that look after the children had gone to bed. It was a cool evening, so I was buried under some quilt on the couch. I tossed it to the side, looked down, and realized that I still had smudges of paint on my legs despite my earlier shower.
“You don’t mind making love to a painted woman, do you?” I asked with a laugh.
We had a discussion this weekend, one of those nitty gritty ones where I was trying to squirm away from a deep down issue that I was working through.
You see, I haven’t been writing much. I kinda lost my focus.
There’s a ton of stuff I could ramble about right here, but I won’t.
You know, one of my favorite lines between Charlotte and Beau is from Malignant Transfiguration when she’s all a mess and he’s all calm. In between the room with people who hold the key to the past and the man at the other end of the hall who holds the key to the future
, Beau freezes time. She tries to fight it, but he presses on until he’s made a pocket of time and space just for the two of them.
“I am reminded.”
She says to him. When her head was lost in grief and uncertainty, he took the time to give her an anchor. He knows her. The anchor will be used when she’s ready for it, and not a moment before. But it’s there.
Creativity is both an anchor and a way to fly for me. It is my roots and my wings. It is how I laugh and how I mourn. It is the way I love others, and the way I love myself. It is how I remind myself that I am painted, and that’s okay.
Yesterday I had a sit down. I made my own pocket of time and reminded myself why I write in the first place. I reminded myself that the paint was there for a reason. And I leave this here for you in case you need a reminding.
Today, when you look at yourself in the mirror, look for the paint. Don’t deny it. Don’t wish it away. Don’t worry about what others will see when they look at your splotches of color.
Remind yourself that you are beautifully painted.
Remind others that they are beautifully painted.
Wear your Paint