Serious Play
Plunge, paint, poem update!
“Enticement works better than entrapment. Curiosity gets us further than curriculum. Serious art requires serious play.” Julia Cameron, Walking in this World
For this month’s newsletter, I’m going to switch things up a bit. (You can’t say I didn’t warn you when I made my word of the year FLOW.) I am flowing into some new creative territory, and I’d be so honored if you come along for the ride.
In February, I set out on a new challenge to do a cold plunge in our nearby lake, take a picture at my plunge then use the picture to create a watercolor painting, and also write a poem to go with the whole experience every day.
When I explained the challenge to one of my plunging buddies, he responded, “I didn’t know you paint.”
To which I replied, “I don’t.”
I have never considered myself a visual artist. Before I went through OCD recovery, my inability to match the vision in my head with my artistic skills in painting made me want to throw up—so I didn’t do it. As OCD has quieted, my tolerance for trial and error and trying something new has increased exponentially. A stray mark on piece of paper no longer makes me feel like a complete and utter failure. An impression of water and clouds actually feels good enough instead of the most horrible embarrassing thing a person could produce.
I set out on this challenge high on cold plunge endorphins and New Year’s energy.
And, you know, what?
I have never had this much fun making art. You see, painting is so clearly not my thing that there was no pressure to make anything “good.”
Instead of dread and fear of the blank page, I felt anticipation. What will I come up with next?
I have never been told I’m good painter (before the challenge) or that painting is my calling or that I must be a steward of this artistic gift. (Stay tuned for a longer essay/rant on this topic.)
Painting is a bonus. An experiment. An exercise in play and joy and whimsy.
I’m genuinely shocked that anyone likes my paintings; perhaps I’m the most shocked that I like my paintings.
I find them delightful. I love the lake and the outdoors. My camera roll has more photos of trees than my own children. What I gift that I can recreate these scenes and moments myself with swirls of water and layered brush strokes.
I have always seen rich imagery in my mind’s eye, and I think it comes out in my writing. I’ve always used words to attempt to explain what I’m seeing in my head. Now I can use art, too.
See, see! I say with every painting. This is a place I love! This is a moment I experienced peace. This is a snapshot of the experiences that have shaped me.
Julia Cameron recommends keeping a sketchbook to record your days, and my daily paintings and poems have played the same role, “A sketchbook freezes time. It’s an instantaneous form of meditation focusing on the worth of every passing moment. So often, the great adventure of life lies between the lines, in how we felt at a certain time and at a certain place. This tool (sketching, or for me, painting) will help you remember and savor the passing parade.”
I joked with some friends that my poems and paintings are like the old social media status updates. It’s been so fun to look back at each day’s work and see the way my mood, capacity, and perspective shows up in different ways.
Painting becomes a practice in paying attention. A meditation. Almost prayer.
I don’t need praise or validation. I am doing this for me.
I will probably continue to share lessons from this challenge. I know it’s rocked my self-perception as an artist. February ended and I’m still going with no signs of stopping.
“Isn’t that a lot?” people ask. “A plunge, a painting, and a poem, every day?”
Yes, and, right now, it feels just right. I’m in a season with a lot of margin. I live five minutes from the lake. I am getting quicker at writing poetry, learning to be okay with cheesy and sentimental, posting anyway as a sign of where I’ve been. And the painting, like I said, is pure joy. I paint while the kids are at school, or together with my daughter in the morning, or instead of scrolling my phone in the evening.
My inner artist is hungry to create and this gives a container for my energy.
When I got the flu in early February, this challenge was a lifeline. Even though I couldn’t workout or write an essay (or even go out), I could do a small painting and short poem and feel like I did something creative. And the plunge and being in nature helped me feel like I was doing something to heal.
I could go on and on about what I’ve learned from this challenge. For now I’ll share three of my favorite paintings and poems.
Day 9: Another sign that OCD is not calling the shots these days: I missed a few days when the flu wiped me out, and I modified the challenge and continued anyway. I wrote in one of my daily poems,
There was a time
I would have pushed through,
fever
be
damned,
wisdom out-witted
By a compulsion to complete.
There was a was time
I would have given up
Called it
A
Loss
A slave to all-or-nothing
Broken off the hunt for beauty
because I missed
One
day
These days I seek softness
The in-between
Resting and returning
To do what I can
When I can
Allowing cotton candy clouds to wash my spirit like a plunge
Put this challenge in its rightful place
Let showing up
Let painting sky
Let word play and pondering
Be good enough
No, more than good enough,
Life
Giving
As if that was the point all along
I’ve been sharing the paintings and poems alongside the original photo from the lake:
Day 3: I had been cold plunging since mid-January, but had yet to plunge during a fluffy snowfall—sleet and tiny dots of maybe snow, but real floofs, not yet. So Monday morning when the snow started swirling, I hightailed it to the lake—just because I could.
Monday Morning
Flakes fall like feathers
A dusting of dizzying delight
as they disappear beneath the surface of
the undulating lake
Cotton candy on the tongue
Sweet so sweet
And gone in an instant
I feared disappointment when we moved
Could not imagine a life
untethered
from twenty years of responsibility
Yet Monday morning I glimpse the snow,
Drop everything,
which is not so much a dropping but
expanding,
Living into this hard-fought
margin made for magic
For all the years my schedule would
not allow
For all the years my brain could not
quiet
For all the years I moved ghost-like,
stuck in haunted judgment
I slip into the lake
Flakes fall like feathers
And I laugh and laugh and laugh
In the snow
In the water
In the wonder
Day 23: Probably the most applicable to this reflection, I ponder why it’s taken me so long to have this much fun with art.
When did I get the idea that Real Art
Must be
Arduous?
Tortuous?
Serious?
Soul baring?
Maybe sharing the good
Is just as worthy a task
As shining a light into the
dark cobwebs of my soul
Maybe I’m allowed to be
Unabashedly joyful,
no paradox,
or juxtaposition,
No asterisk needed
Like the delight of a sunny day in February
I’ll make myself end here, but I would love it if you could check out the full collection of my Plunge / paint / poem challenge so far. Although I don’t need the praise or validation, I would love to hear which poems resonated with you or delighted you.
How about you? How was your February? Do you have any hobbies, activities, or rituals that feel like pure play to you?
What I’m reading
On Substack
This Teachable Moment on creativity for creativity’s sake by Ashlee Gadd
This 10-minute meditation that helps you tap into self-compassion by Kristina Tucker
This interesting reflection on “purpose anxiety” by Sinéad Connolly
This beautiful pondering on God as a mother by Caroline Williams
This essay that will make you LOL then laugh-cry in solidarity if you’re a parent battling flu season by Krista Steele
This watercolor tutorial I would like to try by Charlene Lutz
This peptalk for conquering common writing (poetry) fears by Julia McMullen
This beautiful poem on becoming by Lindsay Swoboda
Books
I mostly re-read Agatha Christie murder mysteries this month, but my best recommendation is a reading practice, not a book.
May I introduce you to Reading Day. With the kids at school, some mom friends and I gathered for snacks, reading, and silence. Highly recommend!
I also highly recommend Katie Blackburn’s new children’s book, The Very Best Baseball Game, about her son’s special needs baseball team and the value in partnering together with people of different abilities.
In the queue
In addition to beautiful poetry, Lindsay Swoboda wrote a book called Holding On and Letting Go: A Life in Motion, that I am so excited to read! Lindsay writes with wisdom, honesty, humor, and does an amazing job of embracing paradox. Available for pre-order now and check out this GORGEOUS cover.
What I’m writing
Guest Posts
**On Glitch Fix, my series where I offer bite-sized tips, resources, and encouragement for battling anxiety, perfectionism, and OCD.
Poetry
I had two poems published in Kris Ann’s A Year of Poetry Study and Reflections along with many other Substack poets. (Held, on page 15 and Monday Morning poem and painting on pages 69-70)
Upcoming
I am beyond thrilled that I have been chosen to share an essay on motherhood with Listen To Your Mother Spokane this Mother’s Day. I’ll be sharing about my own experience with motherhood and worry and questioning the tendency we have to equate worry, especially maternal worry, with care/love.
And here’s another link to my Plunge / Paint / Poem challenge. Please check it out and let me know what you think!
And just so you don’t have to scroll back up, I’d love to hear from you. How was your February? Do you have any hobbies, activities, or rituals that feel like pure play to you?
I’ve never painted in my life and you’re making me want to try it!
This is amazing and such a fun way to document your daily plunges. I’ve been trying a little watercolor but never thought to paint my photography. I think I’m going to try that as a way to practice watercolor. Thank you for sharing. Such an inspiring post!