Heartsong Studio

When out-of-the-blue good fortune bursts upon us, it’s in our best interests to be prepared to change our plans.  In this article “Stumbling on Happiness *”, I trust my heart — and follow all the other advice I’ve been giving you loyal readers of Fresh Horses.

Stumbling on Happiness *

We plan our lives, like our art projects, with a view to a successful outcome. Often things don’t turn out quite the way we expected.

Three and a half years ago when I began Heartsong Studio as a business, I knew I could help clients discover, uncover and recover their wild creative potential. My plan was to focus on this work to give meaning to my life after my elderly husband with Alzheimer’s was in permanent care.

But my future didn’t unfold at all as I’d imagined. One problem was that the time spent teaching and on other activities necessary to running a business severely cut into the time I could devote to my primary interest — artmaking.

Sometimes — perhaps once in a lifetime — we may stumble on true happiness.

A fortunate turn of events I could not have imagined has changed the direction of my life for the next 30 or so years that may be allowed me. This newborn fulfillment within my life has given it a purpose and joy, but has made it impractical to devote adequate time to also continue with my web-based business.

So, this is the final Fresh Horses newsletter.

I’ve enjoyed my interrelationship with every one of my clients and learned a great deal from each of you. I’ve enjoyed and grown from writing this newsletter and from the thoughtful responses it has provoked from my readers.

Heartsong Studio website will remain up for a several months with its archive of Fresh Horses back issues. You will still be able to write comments on any of the articles.

Although I am shutting down the storefront, I remain interested in your artistic development and am open to exchanges of creative ideas. I would welcome all correspondence that you may wish to send in future to celeste@heartsongstudio.com.

I hope you will draw encouragement from my example.

No matter what age you are at or stage in life, if you feel within you the urge to create, that of itself is proof of your potential. Please join me in continuing to uncover and evolve your creative expression, as a vital way to sustain your health and happiness.

Love,

Celeste

*”Stumbling on Happiness” is a book by Daniel Gilbert.

Whenever switching from rational drawing to more intuitive painting, I’ve often wondered if left-handers are more creative.

This summer I’ve found a new way to appreciate my left hand.  I DO NOT advise you to copy my example.

I fractured my right wrist.  A steel plate screwed into the bones to keep them straight finds me in constant pain trying to get my right hand to move as it did while tapering off a whack of medication.  Mine was a regretted accident, but the unique skills of the left hand were a wonderful surprise.

The left hand is the poetic hand.

The intuitive and rational parts of lefties’ brains have a closer connection.  Their brains are structured differently in a way that widens their range of abilities, and the genes that determine left-handedness also govern development of the language centres of the brain, according to Chris McManus of University College London in his book “Right-Hand, Left-Hand”.

Left means gauche, weak, careless, awkward, maladroit, insincere, and so on… Most languages are loaded with anti-left-handed prejudice. Yet, loads of famous geniuses were lefties: Bach, da Vinci, Cole Porter, Michelangelo.

The proportion of left-handers is rising and left-handed people as a group have historically produced an above-average quota of high achievers.

There are over 1000 pieces of piano music written for just the left hand.  Leon Fleisher is a pianist who lost the use of most of his right hand through focal distonia.  His career is a testament to the life-affirming power of art.

If he had to lose use of one hand again, even though he’s right-handed, he says he’d choose to keep his left hand as it has so many advantages.  For one, the thumb of your left hand is nearer the keys which play the melody.   But there’s more.

Where’s the love in my pain ?

If you are right-handed like me, you move the brush or comb with your right hand, but do the delicate arranging of your hair with your left hand. The left hand does the poetic stuff.

Using your dominant hand is not the same only more awkward than your other hand. Each hand has its own personality and specialties.

For a few weeks, I had the use of my left hand only, and what a patient, resourceful, tender hand it is, gently comforting and encouraging my painful dominant right.

Are you on good terms with your left hand ?

Your left hand does things its own way. Keep your right hand from telling your left what to do. Be willing to be surprised.  Suddenly even your left-hand writing gets a lot more legible. Subtle changes appear which you didn’t intend, but are new and attractive.

A real life example

My friend Catherine was born left-handed. She was made to use her right hand in school, though she managed to function pretty well. Catherine always had trouble with perspective drawing with her right hand which tended to look “primitive”.

It was in one of my classes that Catherine realized she was using her left hand sometimes for more free form drawings, but her right hand for precise work, as she had been forced to do.

Here is one of her interesting, earlier works, made with her right hand.

Suddenly she decided to paint entirely with her left hand. The result was so different from anything she had done before. She kept painting from her heart ever since. This is one of her natural, left-handed works — quite a different style. With her left hand, her work is effortlessly more realistic, like Catherine’s personality.

How did this switch come about?

The crucial change came about within Catherine, by gradually gaining the self assurance to follow and trust her intuitive sense of rightness. She recognized the difference in feeling internally, though it may have flown in the face of earlier training.

Want to discover the creative personality of your left hand?

Go outside and look with nothing in mind, until a natural object wants you to pick it up.

Lull your right hand with music, meditation, the Remembrance, or whatever works, so it doesn’t think about how accurate your left hand is.

Use soft pastels or crayon on throwaway paper. Start with eyes closed.

Draw the form you feel when handling your chosen object, first with the right hand, then both hands together, then just the left hand. Make your marks over and over letting each hand improvise as it will. Once you’re into a flow, gently open your eyes as impartial observers only.

It’s important not to focus on pre-formed ideas in your right-handed mind. Sure everything may be awkward at first, but keep attentive to subtle differences.

See how soon you become creative and inventive, once you stop leading with your usual right hand, and let your left hand show its own personality.

On the other hand, can be found a helpmate.

By watching how your other side responds in its own way in a number of situations, you can build up a vocabulary of intuitive expressions. Notice what sort of subject is best done with intuition and which with your original taught way. Then you can consciously choose or mix.

By developing your ambidextrous skills, both right- and left-handedness as well as intuitive and learned skills, you will become less slanted to one approach, and more balanced in other ways.

It’s the middle of summer. I’m not suggesting that you should read a serious article about pleasure. In less than two minutes, here’s some insight into relearning what pleases you.

As simple as child’s play?

If you’re anything like the workaholic and recovering perfectionist that I am, you may find it strangely hard to know what pleases you. After years of doing what you should, how can you make art for your own pleasure unless you know what that feels like?

Every day I watch a doe with twin fawns grazing around my property. The mother has to eat constantly to provide milk enough for two growing youngsters before the fall, and still her ribs are visible.

The fawns spend much of their time playing. They butt heads, pronk with all four tiny hoofs off the ground, then run in wild circles. They act seriously immature, but they show a wisdom that caught my curiosity.

Can you remember how to play?

Look how much human children learn through play in the first few months of life. Fawns have a lot of growing to do in an even shorter time, yet these speckled twins are goofy, silly, and clearly having fun.

“Just” playing doesn’t always come easy.

Here am I in my 70th summer offering a couple of ideas caught from those tiny fawns to rediscover what pleases you.

Okay, I’ll spare you the personal details of what I’m up to in this regard, as you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway, but I can tell you it works. And, it’s really fun.

Simple guidelines

Suspend all judgment about acting your proper age. Pounce on a chance opportunity with abandon. The point is to discover things you didn’t know that please you.

Choose things you’ve never done before, or didn’t believe you could. It might be anything from simply leaving the dishes in the sink, lying in a hammock for hours, all the way to allowing yourself to fall in love for the first time.

Sometimes child’s play isn’t so simple. You might have to relearn it, but I’m finding it’s a well worthwhile study. I’d be pleased to hear what makes you happy.

“We have an infinite number of reasons to be happy, and a serious responsibility not to be serious.” (Maharishi Mahesh Yogi)

In two days my family was cut in half. After years of caring for my husband with Alzheimer’s, he was moved into a permanent care home, and the next day I had to bury our older dog.

Though Bill is better cared for than he could be at home and sweet Flurry is finally out of pain, my losses seemed strangely sudden.

That same evening, the local community choir to which I belong was to perform the first of three concerts. How could I go on and be creative so soon? Could I concentrate enough to carry my part? Would I keep it together on stage when the music got to me?

Ironically, “We Rise Again” was the concert theme, yet the first half seemed to make my burden heavier. I thought that Faure’s Requiem was such dark, morose sounding music, sung in Latin, and far too difficult for us to perform well.

Why is long awaited freedom suddenly so hard?

After ages of serving others, a time will come when you finally get the green light to care for yourself again. You may already have felt the nibble of some ideas for resuming your artwork. But then, doubts rise up big time!

Can you really do this after all this time? Is it reasonable to consider creative expression after all you’ve been through? Would it be best to leave the making to more prolific artists? Can you lift yourself up and go on?

Creating art can heal.

I had received such wonderful support in my caregiver role, it seemed only natural to give some back. Following through on my commitment in spite of doubts and fears gave me a sort of star to focus my mind on.

Taking part in art making is much more powerful than just appreciating it. I found that giving my breath to make beautiful music within a group had a wonderfully calm, healing effect.

After working cooperatively with 55 other singers and an 11 piece orchestra, we eventually could focus on expressing the uplifting meaning of the music. The audience received a powerful experience, and I too felt lifted and healed.

How to go on:

1. Rekindle your inner light. Take some time to practice meditation, the Remembrance, prayer, yoga, or whatever works for you.

2. Be willing to face pain. Allow all your feelings without reserve, then let them go.

3. Give up the notion of total control, then notice how creative ideas come on their own. Allow them space to engage you.

4. Then, get on with it!

I’m beginning drawings for new paintings. Leaving room for the ideas to develop, I trust that once I’m playing my part, the whole will come to a surprising life of its own, and just as in the choir, my healing will continue.

All forms of art making feed the soul and create a container that nourishes your heart. Your renewed spirit will be reflected back to others too through your work.

Sometimes you’re too frazzled to think.  Responsibilities can rapidly change your priorities, so there’s no time to take care of yourself, let alone make art. 

As sole caregiver 24/7 over the many months that my husband was losing himself in Alzheimer’s, I had no time to spare.  When I finally did stumble into some free time, I was usually too stressed to do much other than sit.  I certainly couldn’t paint.

What can you do?

Don’t even try to make art.

I know. I know.  You’re afraid if you don’t pretty soon start creating something you’ll lose the knack.

It’s common for those of us used to requiring high production from ourselves to focus on the limits of our situation.   Right now, it’s too soon.  Things haven’t ripened yet. 

Idleness is not laziness.  

In winter, seeds are underground resting and, while idle, they’re gaining strength for the coming spring.  You too have a natural process of growth in creative expression. 

We all require some period of idleness to lick our wounds, reorient our relationship with Life in general, and get our bearings in our changing situation.  It’s an important part of taking care of yourself.

No future in sight at this stage of your life?

“I am telling myself not to feel the regret,” wrote a woman who missed out on years of making art while she was raising a family. 

Trying to look on the bright side is no way out of a difficult situation.  Instead of trying to dismiss regret, sorrow, or remorse, embrace them.  Making room for all your conflicting feelings also allows you space for new possibilities.

Neither actively search for inspiration, nor passively wait on the whim of caprice.  Instead, remain open to any embryonic images which come your way that might express your changing situation.  

Suddenly it’s over!

After struggling for years caring for my husband’s horrible disease, my situation changed in a matter of hours.  A door suddenly opened, and my husband was given a permanent placement in a care facility where he will be better taken care of than he could have been by me alone. 

Now, as I slowly adjust to the many changes in my life, I can feel new inspirations for painting beginning to take shape. 

Take it easy.

As your situation changes, so do you.  Don’t expect to necessarily take up where you left off, or to create exactly as you once did. 

Try working large if you’ve been used to working small, or smaller if you’ve been used to working large.  Work fast if you’re used to working slow, or slow if used to working fast.

Consider changing media.

However, retain one or more forms of expression which give you comfort.

A different view: 

Looking back at the process of caring for my husband, I’m starting to see it not so much as lost art making time but as possibly the most creative work I’ve ever done.  I’m learning to make the most of whatever life presents to me.  This is the same reciprocal process as meaningful art making.

A willingness to be open to your heart’s wisdom will express itself in everything you do.  The art that comes through you after a time of challenge will be all the richer by reflecting your growth.

It’s still too tender.   Right after you’ve finished spilling your guts in a heartfelt work of art, words to describe it don’t often come easily, if at all.  You aren’t finished yet externalizing and integrating your mind and spirit around the new work.

This process can be helped by avoiding words and theory.  It thrives on silence and contemplation.  Some artists report that creativity requires a sort of blind energy and focused ignorance.

The seeds of doubt may be sown by words. Within words themselves there resides the potential disarmament of creative action.  The mind can easily override the heart and try to tell you how it should be.

Others’ words.

If you ask a lot of people for feedback, you may come away like leaving a psychiatrist’s session — wondering whether to turn right or left, where you parked your car, or if you even have a car.

It’s best to show a new piece to very few until your mind has digested it awhile.   For example, when I had just finished the painting “After all this time…”, I showed it to very few trusted friends.

After all this time . . .

One suggested my painting needed an object in the foreground to give a size perspective, like a crab or a rock on the shore. I was still vulnerable, having barely finished it.  The whole meaning hadn’t quite sifted up to my consciousness.   Having multiple perspectives was part of the whole point.

Another friend pointed out that you can never lose the horizon as my sun was taking a bite out of mine.  I hunted down a photo from nature that proved him wrong.  A-ha !  Damn it.  I was getting defensive.

But then he cared enough to suggest how waves appear in the distance.   I knew he was right about this.  When I found a way to change it that felt right, another layer of meaning came clear to me.

Often the complement is a pitfall.

“I like it,” tells you nothing useful, and it tends to encourage you to rest on your quest.   Although a detailed description of someone’s liking can give you another view you hadn’t thought of, as a third friend helped me by saying:

“I LOVE it !   It is beautiful.  The waves have so much strength and joy they just feel they can carry someone to the end of the world.  I understand why people want you to put in a rock or a crab; they are overwhelmed by the openness.  I found this openness so beautiful and full of promise and opportunity like a beginning.  I can see you dancing on the tip of the wave in the sunrise.”

All these friends gave me priceless gifts.

Criticism and praise can be equally helpful when they’re honest.  It’s not about being “right” or “wrong”.   It’s about trying others’ ideas on for fit.

Friends can often see our work more objectively than we can.  If our original concept can stay open to the light of others’ words, it can be strengthened and enhanced by the exercise.

Your own perception is the most valuable.

At first you may not be able to even give it a name.   When you do title your work, it helps give viewers a clue about its meaning.  Rushing this before you know yourself can curtail your process.

Usually the beginning seed of a concept morphs and develops as the work grows.   It is often through the exercise of honing in on the perfect title that you might integrate your mind and spirit around the deeper meaning, or else realize the limits of this piece.

It can take years to see into your own work.

All your art is autobiographical to some extent, coming from your heart as it does.  If you had unraveled and healed all your issues, then they wouldn’t be showing through.

Twenty-some years after painting certain watercolours, I finally see how poignant and full of yearning they are. I couldn’t see then how they revealed my soul.  Now those issues are resolving, I have found words for them and they have become valuable diaries which I keep as records of my growth.

December 2009 —

Finally I have titled the painting which I’d provisionally called “After all this time….”  to  “Source Eternal”.  The process took place as I described in this article.

No comments

Let’s get real. What are your chances of successfully making art at this stage in your life ?

If you were a rare prodigy like Picasso, chances are you wouldn’t be reading this. You’d be too busy producing masterpieces to be subscribed to Fresh Horses or exploring different ways of opening to creative expression.

Prodigies don’t often indulge in open-ended exploration. They tend to start with a clear idea or concept of where they want to go. Then they go there. Searching means nothing to the prodigy. Instead, they find.

One indication of a prodigy’s success — Picasso’s earliest works are worth about four times his works done later in life.

Sometimes genius is anything but rarefied.

“Sometimes it’s just the thing that emerges after twenty-two years of working at your kitchen table,” wrote Gladwell in his October ’08 New Yorker article.

We who were not prodigies may yet be late bloomers.

The personality of late bloomers is oriented to experimentation. It requires time to assimilate growth and healing in your life in order to achieve the desired goals — those that meet your exacting standards.

Late bloomers are usually on a journey through life.

They collect and grow from experiences. One thing leads to a richer something else, and so their work evolves, forever imperfect, gathering in richness through research and experience. They are always on the cusp of transformation.

If you are a late blooming artist, you are more like a Cezanne. The works at the end of his career are his finest masterpieces, worth about fifteen times the value of his earlier works.

How shall we measure success ?

In my experience, success will probably be measured by personal satisfaction more than anything. Though we understand the value of money, late bloomers tend to value their journey of personal creation and growth above the destination.

Assuming you’re a late bloomer like me, you may want to reinvent yourself at some stage in your life, or explore another side of your spirit. The longer you live, the greater your possibility of success.

Don’t go it alone.

No matter how much of a self-starter, pull-yourself-up-by-the-boot-straps kind of guy you think you are, there will come a time or three when you run out of juice and courage. What you need is the connection of someone on your side; an advocate you trust.

Seems impossible to be a success at much of anything without at least one advocate who really cares for you. A true advocate has no ulterior motive other than their genuine caring for you and your creative explorations.

By the time you know you’re getting somewhere in personal artistic expression, you’ll also feel grateful to others knowing you couldn’t have done it alone. This is one indication that you are learning the giving and receiving of true love.

Significant others.

No one in any significant profession can do it without the essential help of others. Even hard-working ten-thousand-hour obsessive-compulsive introverts have to learn to accept support and encouragement from trusted others.

For some, this comes naturally, even easily. For others, particularly those in self-starting fields, it’s a long and dusty road pocked with trial and error.

The writer David Fountain’s wife happily supported the eighteen year gestation of her husband’s work “Brief Encounters”. She had complete confidence in him.

Cezanne’s father didn’t hesitate to support his son financially, being just as committed to artistic ‘perfection’ as his son.

Theo Van Gogh’s devotion to his brother was not just financial; he was the emotional bedrock of Vincent’s life.

Late bloomer’s stories are invariably love stories in the making.

2 comments

Fifty-eight diverse people came together to sing in our local community choir. About the only thing we had in common was a desire to express ourselves. We differed in most other respects, including musical training which ranged from none at all to professional.

We sounded pretty ragged at the first few rehearsals, fifty-eight different voices all doing their own thing. Not a satisfying experience to say the least. What we communicated was our wide differences.

Some beginning artists enjoy visually expressing their innermost feelings too, yet puzzle over why this doesn’t yield any but accidental success in communicating to others.

Sure your heart has to be filled with inspiration to begin to make deeply meaningful art of any kind. But there still remains the question of how to communicate all the meanings we envision to others so it has the desired effect.

Won’t technical discipline kill heartfelt expression ?

All of us wanted to make beautiful music, but it was hard for many to curtail their socializing and knuckle down. It was because of the discipline that after many weeks of hard, two and three hour rehearsals, we eventually learned techniques of singing that enabled us to blend our individual voices into one beautiful sound.

How do you turn an expressive feeling into a work of art ?

The same way a soprano, alto, tenor or bass does — by repeating difficult parts enough times until the bugs are ironed out and it is known inside out. An artist might draw her chosen image enough times from enough different perspectives until she knows it like the back of her hand.

Just as a piece of music expresses meaning and feeling by intonation, rhythm, crescendos, pronunciation, and so on, your images need to find the best composition to communicate your intended meaning and feeling.

It’s not about individual performances. All the parts need to blend in varying proportions. Sometimes the harmony needs to be quieter so as not to drown out the tender melody. Other passages need all parts to crescendo together into a glorious peak.

The elements in your artwork are not all of equal importance either. Some need to lead, while others need to play a complimentary role, or sometimes a challenging, clashing role. If all your colours are equally brilliant, for example, the total effect becomes less than brilliant.

What ! Heart-centred math ?

When you transfer your final drawing into the different size of your finished surface, the scaling up often involves mathematical proportions. Though it might seem far removed from creativity, it can make all the difference between a beautiful work and a silly one.

Nobody’s eye will accept a horizon at sea that isn’t dead straight. An otherwise beautiful seascape is totally ruined if the water runs uphill. It is more than okay to measure the horizon with a ruler. It’s mandatory.

The rhythm of a drawing communicates feelings the same way that getting the rhythm right is crucial in music. Trust that ‘doesn’t look quite right’ feeling and take the time to study the true nature of what you really want to communicate. Take its pulse. Get the details right.

It helps to know a little biology if you’re going to draw on nature. How far back on a duck’s body are its legs ? Learn a little oceanography if you’re going to paint beach scenes. Do waves approaching shore grow bigger or smaller, and why ?

Supporting your imagination.

Because artistic intelligence often holds dollops of imagination, the world of the artist can appear greater and more wonderful than the real world. To bear fruit, the creative imagination has to be harnessed by intelligent life-skills — like hard work, focus and practicalities. These skills may need to be learned.

After warming the hearts of our local community who came out in snow storms to three concerts, we joked about bringing our unifying experience to Ottawa, as a model for peace among politicians. In a similar way, attention to detail in your artwork can enable your message to really land on receptive eyes.

“Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.” — Steve Jobs

Technical know-how, though secondary, is what allows you to climb every mountain in pursuit of your dream, and allows your dreams to touch the hearts of others.

No comments

There was no question of any art-making after freak snow storms left us without power for 5 days and nights. House-bound, cold, and in the dark, keeping myself and my family warm and fed nipped any creative urges in the bud.

At first it was fun.

It was almost an adventure, like pioneering, or candle-lit dinner . . . for about an hour.

When things happen which change your day-to-day existence dramatically, like illness or accident, your priorities change in a flash.

Through no fault of your own, your art-making routine can be disrupted all out of shape by the overwhelm of added responsibilities. Even the holiday season can sabotage your creative habits.

You start to lose something.

A prolonged removal from the personal expression of creative work begins to affect your health too. Especially in times of stress, it can be very disconcerting to be deprived of this natural outlet.

Then suddenly the situation ends.

And, another type of stress is added. Things don’t always easily return to normal. It took a few warm nights sleeping without hat and mitts, and a few hot showers before I could relax and trust the return of power.

Many stops and starts – power on an hour, off again for two. Resetting digital clocks, and answering machines. Burst water pipes all over the neighbourhood. Phones dead whole days.

It’s not that you can’t benefit from a break.

The problem is afterwards, returning to some routine. Overcoming the inertia and returning to your art-making habits can take quite an effort after a prolonged absence.

Here’s an antidote to ease you back.

1. Don’t make art. Not yet.

Like finally taking a warm shower, ease yourself gently back with this loving care.

2. Just play.

Give yourself permission to be a child. Your inner artist will love to be cradled and played with.

3. Close your eyes and let your arms move in their own rhythm over paper. Use a cheap piece of paper and some ready media like crayons to further reduce the pressure.

A session or two of indulgent play will do the trick to get you back into the healthy habit. It could unearth some new possibilities; show you a fresh path to explore as well.

Much later, once you’re fully recovered, you can inch back into a regular discipline.

Turning tragedy into a blessing is a long road.

Though you may have no choice in the circumstances that limited you, you do have a choice, in the long run, of how you will view it. Once you have exercised resilience of this kind, you’ll be that much stronger in the future.

Think of the creative energy this will release ! There will be no stopping you !

I found this gorgeous, 8 inch amanita muscaria mushroom, a perfect speciman in bright reddish orange, like a glowing light in a dark ditch.

Amanita Muscaria

The clash of its attractive colour with its deadly poisonous effect was puzzling at first. How could the vibrant colour warn people to stay away yet be so beautiful at the same time ?

Do you reject certain colours, styles, or media in your artwork ?

When we have pain, fear, or any negative feeling, we tend to tell ourselves why this is happening, and how to avoid or fix it. We often label it as forbidden, all with the intention of protecting ourselves from harm.

Forbidden territory is known but rejected. Rejection is like not forgiving. To not forgive is to give power to that rejected thing. If you had truly given up your rejection of the colour purple, for example, wouldn’t it feel neutral ?

At one time this may have been useful, just like my avoidance of poisonous mushrooms. Now, we may be limiting our potential for appreciation and expression.

It’s both humbling and expanding.

Before we can move on, we have to give up the wish that things were different and momentarily release our ideas of right or wrong, fair and unfair, will or won’t.

Once we stop arguing with the flow of events we can become conscious of our experience instead. It’s not a bad idea to test your boundaries now and then to see how viable they are.

Here’s an opportunity to re-examine paths not taken.

Colour is an easy quality to use, though this process works with other qualities too. You can explore any rejected colours to find out if there are any you might better embrace.

But never fear. Most forbidden things are self-imposed. You forbid this colour. You closed the door. You can always shut the door again if you need to.

Start by going toward the forbidden.

Choose or mix up one or a few really repulsive, yucky colours.

Then with one of these, and an open mind, begin to make marks on your paper, pushing it, squashing it, seeing what it’s made of. Let it have its say until you begin to see something in it you didn’t see before.

Then use a couple of these ‘ugly’ colours together. Find out what effect they have on each other.

Ask yourself:

1. Which forbidden colours provided access to new territory ?

2. Which colours stayed as repulsive as before ?

3. Which now seem more natural to you than you expected ?

Next, introduce these colours to old favourites.

On a fresh sheet of paper make a piece that allows the new and old to meet and find their way. See what happens when you use them together in a new work.

Ask yourself:

1. How did your hated and loved colours get along ?

2. Do you have any new respect for some colour ?

3. Did the combination show you anything that surprised you ?

This exercise is not so much about colour as it is about breaking out of self-imposed, constricting patterns of thinking. If you start with the relatively easy topic of colour, then perhaps others will be easier.

The reward is increased vitality and well-being.

When we consciously surrender our self-imposed restrictions, it releases our potential creative spirit from the confines of ordinary thinking. The only thing that truly limits us is what we don’t know about universal Love.