torn

Nine years ago, I walked into a position that prior to accepting I never knew existed. My intent when I first contacted the hospital was to volunteer; good deeds are not always punished. Though I had no formal training in arts in medicine, my journey thus far had carefully groomed me to be successful in this new endeavor. Unexpected talents and opportunities have been the rewards of taking a risk, a huge cut in salary, and essentially starting over with the career thing or rather than starting over I should say standing at the cusp of an arena that would make perfect sense of my entire past.

Among other things, working with the cultural arts in a medical institution has reinforced my belief that the arts need to be more accessible, less intimidating to anyone who has the desire to be creative. In grammar school, I questioned why my picture of a round house was graded poorly because it was not the shape the art teacher thought it should be. Heaven forbid you drew a triangle and it wasn’t the lesson on tee-pees -- branded across the top of your page would be the shameful scarlet “F”. As an adjunct professor teaching creative writing to adults, I remember seeing rows of windows opening when I removed that red mark from assignments past and told them there had always been more than one way to draw a home. Watching my students pop the tops of boxes that contained their stifled imaginations and begin to think outside for the first time was such a thrill. The use of visual art (I drew houses on the board to take them back in time) helped the class visualize their imprisoned mind as a metaphor for the word no. Seems like it was the first word we pronounced correctly the first time we spoke it as a toddler; each time we heard it, it took away something. I’m not suggesting that no doesn’t have its place in raising a child and that in many, many instances it definitely needs to be adhered to as we grow older. But let’s stay on point and direct our focus back to the arts shall we...

No can convince you that your norm is not normal, can put a stop to creative development. No made mine almost come to a screeching halt in junior high, suppressed my public voice driving it underground. I did not share my poetry and short stories with anyone anymore but continued to write secretly at night. In school, I conformed in an effort to please the art teacher and avoid a bad grade. I was tremendously disappointed each time I did not make first chair in band, felt pressure to keep it when I did. If I had been honest with myself I would have openly admitted that I really had no interest in playing the flute at that level. Blowing to explore various sounds that I found pleasurable satisfied me plenty. So I got in a box and partially shut the lid, slipping and peering out on occasion. Somewhere in my psyche I knew I was a nonconformist at heart and needed time to find my drum (if you listen, you’ll hear it banging long, hard, loud and often!).

One of the reasons I love to collage is that it really is an art form that anyone can do if they don’t try to mimic someone else. When I introduce it as part of a workshop I facilitate, I have participants select a picture from a magazine, tear it up, shuffle the pieces, then reconstruct it to design a different image. Each person has the freedom to show off their piece only if they want to. Judgment is not welcome in my classrooms, any way you do anything is right. Much like when I taught writing, I get a kick as do they when they see how cool their torn paper collages are, looks of satisfaction crowd the space. But the biggest treat is watching them watch themselves climb out of that box they’ve been residing in, free once again to freely express themselves after so many years. As they depart, many of them leave behind the carton they stepped from opting to discard it where trash is left. Others take it with them, torn like the strips they pieced together knowing that nothing will ever be quite the same.

Consider this…your morning routine is a dance that only you know and do, when you hum without thought it’s a song from inside of you, thoughts scribbled mindlessly in the margins may be telling you a story worth hearing…what I’m saying is we’re all creative beings so go tear up some paper and while you're at it...

keep your peepers open! ®