I Paint My Happiness. I Paint My Hope.

There is something magical about the way certain papers and watercolor pigments unite. The resulting texture makes my cells hum with pleasure. There is something magical about colors and the energy they bring. There is something magical about how art can make you feel.

Alive.

My name is Anna Larsson and I paint joy. I paint hope. I paint transformation. My art can be used in meditation and for reflection, as reminders and on altars. It goes wherever it is needed.

Then

It began in 2010, when I decided to take a year to focus on creating in new and different ways. Before that, I had mostly drawn and painted realistic botanicals in pen and ink and watercolor, as well as spiritual illustrations in black and white. Now I longed for color. Spontaneity. Connection.

I had felt tired. Worn out. I had lost my path. Fear had entered. Color had exited.

I explored collage, crochet, abstract art - still with my beloved watercolors - and one day something was born. Something new.

Oxygen.

A breath.

It was winter. I put dried branches in a ceramic vase and made ornaments in different shapes with art and affirmations to hang on the branches. I painted what I needed the most.

Color.

Life.

Hope.

This expanded into small cards.

Light. Love. Joy.

But as I moved on to larger and more abstract pieces, I forgot about the potency of these small friends.

Now

I had all but forgotten until recently, when a separation prompted deep immersion into the creative oceans. I sometimes wonder why it is that crises can be such fertile ground for creativity...

On the meditation altar of my dharma buddy, I found two pieces from that time, ten years ago; early ones, text only, somewhat dusty and faded.

But potent.

“Kindness, openheartedness and truth,” read one. “There is a way,” read another. I felt my heart flutter and my muse whisper: “There is always a way.”

As I opened the door to my art supply closet, I felt a breeze of energy. Here I store my paper. Watercolor paper, rough paper, cold press paper, hot press paper, handmade paper, paper made of cotton, synthetic paper; you name it, I probably have it. I pulled out a pile on my art table together with pen and scissors and began to paint.

Liberation.

Pleasure.

When I paint, I take special pleasure in seeing the unpredictable patterns that appear when using certain textured papers with water and granulating watercolor pigments. Granulation is an effect caused by the pigment particles settling in the indentations of the paper.

I paint the colors I feel drawn to. The colors I need. Soothing blues. Vibrant yellows and oranges. Nourishing pinks. The possibilities are endless.

The water brings flow. Unpredictability. Excitement and suspense. What will happen next?

Yet, calm is also present. Wholeness.

The brush dances across the paper as I, the observer, am watching, enjoying the process.

Once again, small ornaments and cards are taking form. I lovingly cut the art to shape. Reminders of what we have. Reminders of what we are.

Hope. Peace. Joy.

Love. Light. Faith.

I paint my happiness

I paint my happiness. Yes, it is really true. The act of creating can bring with it a feeling of joy. Can be joy. Imbue the art with joy.

I find peace in creating. I used to say: “I feel best when I create - because then I don’t feel,” but this is not quite true. When I create, it is as if things get processed in the background, and I emerge lighter. I feel, but the feelings have been transmuted. New beginnings are emerging.

I paint what I need. I paint my own hope.