Art with heart

Originally published on Sweetspot.ca


Before the holidays, my family was invited to try out Canvas Jam, a studio where kids can go wild with canvas and paint under Cindy Rose Leech's gentle, unobstrusive guidance. On the initial consultation, Cindy and I selected the colour palette (based on my home décor) for what would be a gift to my husband that would hang in our bedroom.

The finished product was a beautiful masterpiece (as you'll see below.) No macaroni art here folks. I took what we learned and tried to recreate the results at home, and while our versions turned out OK, the amount of clean-up and staining afterwards was hardly worth it (though the grandparents loved their presents.) So try this at home, but preferably in a basement or garage where you won't mind paint on your walls. 

	Start with your base colour (in this case white) of washable, non-toxic latex paint and have your child apply it with a big thick brush. Globs and drips are acceptable, but pop any bubbles gently. The key is to guide them without interfering too much, so that real art happens.
	If the paint is on thick, take a favourite object, like a toy car and run it through to give the painting texture. Throw the truck in the sink before anyone drives it over your Grandmother's antique Turkish rug (take it from me, kids have a way of getting around tarps).
	The key to Cindy's pupils producing fabulous work is how she keeps each colour separate. Genius right? I bet all the paintings in your house were essentially brown before this tip, too. Keep the pre-mixed paint in clear plastic containers so excess can be re-used at a later date. Make sure to close that lid up tight.
	Our finished Canvas Jam piece. Isn't it splendid? The long splashes were made with a syringe, which Cindy discovered as a way to take the scariness out of needles while painting with children at Sick Kids. Daddy was surprised and truly impressed.
	Don't forget to get them to sign and date it. Allow your painting to dry (some place where the kids can't get to it). Then spray the painting with aprotective varnish.
	Here's what our homemade versions look like. I'll spare you the photo of my kitchen floor. The faint of heart should call Canvas Jam at 416-971-7912.

In the Pursuit of Beauty

I just finished The Elegance of the Hedgehog. Translated from the original French, it was a bit clunky at times, the pretension in its discussion of philosophical, intellectual and social matters making some of it hard to digest. (Or even get through.)

ETA: My friend Grace suggested that if you are currently reading the book, you may want to finish it before reading this post. No spoilers, but yeah, I agree. If you haven't read the book, you could still glean something from this post.

But push through I did, because this tale of a lowly-but-intellectual French concierge and a well-off, hyper-intelligent-but-hopeless 12-year-old girl ultimately had a great message. Not to teach us, because frankly, we all know it deep inside. But to remind us of it.

When we grunt our way through our lives, we often vacillate between complaining and wondering what the fuck we're complaining about. (Yes I said fuck. No, no one has ever called me elegant.) And somewhere in between, we have glimmers of pure joy.

The meaning of life is life. We're just meant to live it. That's all. Pure and simple. Yet we search for something else. Something that doesn't exist. Because we don't quite get that the secret to a happy life is in the Art of living it.

The pursuit of Beauty. The pausing to take mental snapshots of what makes our life so much more unique than say the life of my cat. This is the Art of Living. And if we pursue this, our lives would be full of more kindness and more joy than we might feel we're worthy of.

And so we focus on the ugly. We focus on what's not working. We stress about what we don't like: about ourselves, about our kitchens, about our parents or our partners. And to do this is creating Hell on Earth.

We think, if only. If only I had a bigger house, a better-paying job, a million dollars, a smaller bum, a more romantic husband. If only I could change X, then I will be happy. But we, stupid humans that we are, don't seem to realize that the problem is not X. If it was, we'd certainly find eternal happiness in new appliances and new shoes. But those highs are fleeting, superficial. Nothing lasts. Nothing except the soul.

So how to honour our creation, the one life we're given and find happiness? By seeking beauty. By truly seeing it. That age old cliche of stopping to smell the flowers.

It's like you have to change your eyes to the close-up lens. Look at the amazing details of what's around you. The soft peach fuzz on your child's arm and the way it catches the light; the crest of chest hair peeking out of your husband's shirt -- how it looks like that Japanese wave painting you love. (Yes, there is meaning in body hair. Therefore I am truly blessed as an Armo woman.)

That chunk of wall that's missing as you go up the stairs? Think of the sweet little finger that pried the plaster off, wanting to know what lurked behind it. That wee finger won't be wee much longer. Love the dent.

Don't think about what you suck at. Think about what you're amazing at. Go chase after that for a while. Start to talk as though you believe it.

(OK, at this point, I have to take a panic attack break. Yes, because you see, people always say that once you figure out the meaning of life, you die. Is that a metaphorical death? The death of your ego perhaps? The death of the superficial person you assumed was you but isn't? I don't know, but let's just say the end of the book didn't give me that impression.)

So we learn and relearn the lesson until we finally get it. We make the same mistakes over and over until we are able to be mindful of them, and even then we might trip a few more times at the same spot. We fall back into our comas, heads under water, sleepwalking through life...

Until Beauty awakens us again. Reminds us that we're alive and indeed, we did just hear that, see that, taste that, smell that, FEEL that.

We make the mistake of saying, "I'm on a journey." Staying in the singular. When really, we're all on this ride together, at the same time, just at different stops along the tracks. We make life hard for ourselves, but also for each other, because we're not really paying attention, we're just getting by, passing through, asleep at the wheel.

Wake the fuck up. Start living. Start by searching for the Beauty in everyday things and pausing when you TRULY see it, when you feel it in the depths of you. Note it. It's only real if we SEE it. The trees are all dying because we no longer see them, no longer stop to smell their freshness, nor pause to think about their purpose. If all we see is ugliness, hatred, negativity, there will be nothing good left in the world.

Camellias on moss.

ETA: I have had this thought before, but didn't quite get it in the same profound way. Read Diamonds in the Roughage to see what I mean.