by roxanne galpin

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once s/he grows up.
~ Pablo Picasso

Jenica Mckenzie, in her wishmamas article, asks us to look at ourselves and our surroundings with fresh, child-like eyes. What do I see?

I see much through my child-like eyes ~ these ones in my head and heart that many call naive. I see everything as though for the first time ~ the joyful and the painful. Each experience that vibrates through the channel of my Self feels new. Familiar places cast themselves in a different light, or shadow. Each experience of loss and grief, even betrayal, feels intensified ~ as if I’d never known such things. Each experiential vision of beauty shines like a brand new discovery ~ like the first time tasting lemon pie, or mama’s fudge or date square.

As a child, I created ~ coloured, cut and paste, designed, imagined. I had tea parties with all my stuffed animals and dolls. Each had names, and each had a place in my bed ~ I never wanted anyone feeling left out. I learned to crochet, knit, sew and cross stitch. And then I decided I must grow up, grow away from such childish trifles. I always felt an element of unreal, living my so-called grown up life stuck in a facade of sophistication, of acquiring things, that only made me feel more unreal.

Then I became a mother. And my children taught me all I need to know. Grow down … be their mom, be myself. And, intuitively, I began to give my babies what they needed most from me ~ creation. Creation, as in forged by my own hands. Birthday cakes, cookies and other goodies to take to school for special occasions, Hallowe’en costumes. Creation, as in making blanket forts on rainy days. Creation, as in playing ~ just getting down on the floor and playing Brio trains, or dreaming up things with piles of Lego ~ creations the makers of Lego never, ever could imagine!

My children taught me that creation and creativity is who I’m meant to be, whom I was, always … from the very moment of conception. I am not my creations, and my creative energy does not cease to exist even after one of “my” creations does. My children have also taught me there’s a quality of sublime in taking feelings to heart ~ in truthfully channeling my joy, my sorrow, and also acceptance.

Motherhood has given me so much … so much more than perhaps I have given it. From supreme joy, uneasy humility, to vicious love that feels just as much like a beastly hunger, as it does an enormous meal. Also, to pain darker than human intellect can comprehend. A pain that reminded me I was alive, all those times, in the wake of my 10 year old son’s untimely death, when I wished to die. During those times, when words eluded me, when I could not adequately express myself ~ creativity rescued me. Healing demands that we be who we are … it demands a certain amount of acceptance, and a great deal of childishness.

The 10th year of my young one’s death has passed, mere days before the 20th anniversary of his birth. And, in the dawn of turning 41, I have discovered that I can paint – with watercolours and a brush, and everything! A paint brush and a pencil are the best visual tools for sustaining my child-like vision.

Dear friends and readers, always remember the child, always remember to look through her eyes, and see, really, really see. Attention to every single thing conceives and bears art.