It started as shoe polish scribblings

Have you ever had that one thing that makes life feel like the first day of spring?

It's that one thing you might not do for a living, or have time for as often as you’d like; as life at times gets in way. It's that thing you'll always want to bring up around people that interest you (those you may want to impress). Even if you’re a humble person it’s something you have at least the urge to express and share; even if you never do. As that thing makes you feel like you have the power to create, and to be a master of something no matter how profound or how simple it is. You love it because even if it's just for you, it’s worth getting excited about.

It might not always be easy. You may have to take your time with it. Or you have tried picking it up again and again, so you pursue it on in small doses. Maybe you've had a long and complicated relationship with it, and you've been on and off for a while but you know the passion and the love for it will always be there. Or maybe it's something new, and it ignites a fire within you. Even if it's small and simple. Even if it seems useless, it still fuels a strange compulsive need to explore why you’re driven to do it, because maybe somewhere along the way you’ll find an answer. Then again, even if you don’t, it's that thing you wouldn’t regret the time spent exploring anyway. That's what painting is for me.

I am not an incredible painter and my skills are amateur at best. Although, that doesn't matter to me anymore, and so I guess that's why it's my thing.

From the scribblings of a shoe polish sponge squeezed on my bedroom wall and homemade paints of water and crushed leaves and rose petals on the concrete slab in my backyard as a grubby and giggly toddler. To the lively finger paintings my parents would hang all around the house, because even though they added no any aesthetic value they could see the world for a moment through of the eyes of their little girl. To the barbies I’d camouflage in green and purple splotches and dunk in paint baths. To the regrettable "help" my brother would receive (or more so endured), when I assisted in giving his blank figurines a little more "pizazz" with my off colouring and messy brush strokes (staying in the lines was never really my forte). Then, later in the pieces I'd create at school. Tucked in-between my books to hide from others, as my bashful adolescence kept them hidden in embarrassed blushes as they never seemed “good” enough. Finally, to my paintings I began last year that for the first time were just for me. Until I decided to no longer hide them away and instead share them. Along with the hidden personal truths they held.

I began painting again after the hardest period of my life. Not only had the bushfires devastated Australia and the pandemic had hit, leaving us all in lockdown and in a shocking grief period worldwide, I felt my personal life begin to crumble. I began to lose sight of my goals with my studies and future vision, as my health began entering into a sensitive state. My personal and familial relationships seemed to join the chaotic drift as my family life began to lose ground. My father entered into institutional care after entering a psychosis years in the making, and my Mum, our rock, started showing the signs of illness we later found out to be breast cancer. The tension and confusion caused me to brake it off with my partner who I shared a home and raised a puppy with, losing their friendship, love, and support as we moved apart. With the drift and a sudden force to leave my residence I also had to move away from my best friend (whom I was also living with), and so I no longer had her sun-like nature around every day.

Looking back now it everything crumbled for me to leave the comfortable and the false sense of security I built, to become my own person. With no one solid to lean on, and as everyone else also had to confront struggles of their own, I was faced with the reality well past its due date, to finally grow up and to be strong for those around me. Despite the crescendo of drastic changes in my personal life, things changes just as much for everyone else; if not more. So, instead of dwelling on pain that I was not alone in experiencing, I went back to thing I knew best. That, being my childhood adoration. A safe place to set free my childlike spirit when no one was watching. Where on the harder days it was a place I could find through a brush and a canvas. Instead of dwelling on the hardship, or I'd paint instead.

I began painting anything. It didn't matter because it was so calming, as if it were another form of therapy. So, it became my mediation and devotion to the present state. I'd remember all that I was grateful for. I began to see my situation as a blessing. I had not only a beautiful practice where I could listen to music and enjoy tea whilst painting, but the privacy, time, and space to do something I loved became sacred. I had entered a new dimension, not just through painting but within my life.

So, as I would relax whilst painting, I could finally be true to myself. I could be honest on the canvas. I could explore and process the pain and grief of the losses. Or I could freely paint the feelings of vivid love I was experiencing when I'd focus on gratitude. I could process things differently and actively change my thought patterns. Just as I could a create world through paint, colours and strokes through this practice I was also changing my inner world that would soon transform my world around me.

The practice of painting forced me to see the truths I'd been hiding from. I couldn't hide from the patterns and tendencies of my mind. I would manifest them into reality just for them to stare straight back at me.

I saw myself painting the ugly and beauty I saw in the world, in people, in colour, and form. Naturally I realised how I could be honest with myself about how I felt about myself and others. Noticing what I was more likely to paint or not paint was dependent on what I saw as beautiful or aesthetically pleasing. So, I decided I could challenge that too.

In doing so, I was changing my pre-convinced notions that I never thought I had. That in truth, I found were just visors to filter the fears I previously wasn't ready to see. I even came to accept my sexuality through painting. I found myself getting lost in the beauty of people, of all kinds. Through each stroke, each curve, each and every little detail to create the image I wanted to see, I would trace the inner workings of my mind. Recognising that our aesthetics and our outer form were so separate from the true self. I could paint the most divine vision of the human body which would my aesthetic appreciation but just that, aesthetic appreciation.

So, in doing so I realised no outer physical detail of a person could have my appreciate yes, but could never have my heart. So I learnt through painting to no longer hide how I felt about love and to let go of expectation of who I wanted to share it with as the inner nature superseded gender and physical expression of identity. Which I’m not so sure if I would have explored or admitted to otherwise. So within that space, at least for me I found some form of truth. I know I'm not the first or last to say this but I believe art does have the potential to reveal – if and when you’re willing to see them – your deepest truths.

There's always been something other worldly about the experience of painting. There’s an unspoken knowing that can never truly be captured by description or words, only known when you surrender to the experience. Like in any creative pursuit within the process it can connect you to a part of the universe you never knew existed. The access to another dimension that no conversation, experience, or feeling you've ever had could match.

I think whether we know why we do the things we love or not. Whether we question ourselves throughout the process, whether we just enjoy the practice or the outcome doesn’t matter. Creativity can tap us into a life force where in those moments you feel like time doesn't exist. Where you've tapped into your flow and you can be effortless in those moments. As when you have the courage to devote time without expectation on the result, just presence with the process. In that you'll be shown real freedom.

I can only speculate, but maybe that’s why truth can be found. Freedom from the confines that mask truth. It's no secret the greatest artists throughout history found profound truths that spoke through their art, and eventuated in shaping the minds of humanity for centuries. Yet for others like myself it maybe a simple, yet meaningful personal truth. Maybe for others it's not conscious or necessary to analyse, but as we all edge closer to that space in our practice, no matter what it is, I hope we can all find a similar place for ourselves for that space and peace of mind. A place for openness and truth to shed light on the spaces for change where renewal and rebirth can take place.

Like the warm rays of the sun beckoning the morning dew to dissolve, so instead the petals can reveal themselves to bloom just like on the first day of spring.