Echoing the songs around me

This month has been a bit of a blur.
When not glued to the olympics, my compulsion is to prepare.
In so many ways it feels as though the journey that begins on Sept. 5th has already begun.
My thoughts are on preparing to leave -- readying our house, packing what we need and not taking what we don't, and then preparing for our farewell fundraising event.

Our performance fundraiser is partly to raise funds and partly to help us process the reality of our transition emotionally and mentally.  A chance to articulate our hopes and invite others to partner with us in this adventure -- to carry each other in our hearts while apart.  And... a deadline to polish a couple songs we'd like to share overseas.  That is a new endeavour as our family becomes a harmonizing quartet -- kinda fun and kinda hard too, considering the dynamics of rehearsing with your own kin.

I thought that I would earn more money for myself through voice-over work this summer, and have that be my financial contribution to our excursion.  But alas, this has not happened.  I have helped the boys earn some good travel money, but my efforts have not materialized the way I had hoped.

In a burst of desperate resourcefulness, I started baking and painting.  I thought, if my acting talent is not going to earn money at this time, then how about my other creative languages?

My baking is pretty reliable, but putting paint to canvas was another threshold altogether.

It was scary.  I didn't feel room to explore or make mistakes, and interestingly what kept coming out was bright, girly flowers.  Yep.   The kind that I made when I was little.  This made me feel especially sheepish as a legitimate artist, and yet somewhat happy as a person.  What was going on?  My art in sketchbooks usually takes shape quite quickly with sweeping arcs and triangular points and I have great satisfaction in the balance of shape and movement on the page.  But this is was a different playing field.  Not just pen and paper.  How was I translate my passion into paint on a textured canvas?  I couldn't even get a saturated line.

Doubts plagued me as I kept asserting -- but what kept coming out was the same designs again and again.  I'd stop and then take it up again.

I knew my brush skill and experience and proficiency with the medium was as at a beginning level and yet my love of color and boldness carried me on.

I am still mixed about some of my results... especially when it comes to asking people to purchase these paintings.  But I don't know what else to do but offer them.   Which voice should I listen to?  The artist who criticizes and demands standards, or the girl who thinks they're pretty?  Both voices are in my head and although I admit I do like some of the finished products,  I also wince at the lapses in perfection.

But then the little girl takes my hand and leads me away to look at real life outside.  She points to one of the hundreds of sunflowers in our garden.

"See?"  she says.  "You are just echoing what is singing around you."

I stare at the brown velvety centre of the golden glow flower, which is a landing pad for a bumble bee.  I breathe deep.  And I know it really doesn't matter.  People will buy the paintings or they will not.  And if they do, they will think of me and my expression of life and my fear and my hope for a courageous and rewarding journey.

The little girl is right.