Coloring books for adults have exploded on the market and in numerous homes of my friends, not to mention my own. There is something relaxing, soothing, calming about coloring. Being given an eye catching picture with all the perfect outlines, in bold for you. All you have to do is pick the color and color in the line and lo and behold, a masterpiece. Production of art for the trash and for your soul.
I was thinking how when I was handed my first child my soul got its first endless coloring book.
The first year is just blank pages splattered with all things baby... drool, spit up, pee, and the all too lovely explosive diaper remnants. There were seconds between the sleep deprivation, the body transformation (which resembled nothing close to what I had pictured in my top 10 acceptable "after baby bodies"), and the hormones, that resembled a crying freight train not sure where the track is. I would find those seconds found me sitting and wondering if there were any crayons left in my place, that I call me.
For the next 5 years I discovered numerous moments where cell membrane images, which of course is our family, slowly turned into aliens (the scary kind) each one in-between morphing into an animal or human. It was as tho I was watching our family go through Darwin's evolution theory poster. But how exciting it was to introduce her to creating. She loved to pull out some paper and color all across the table, floor, fridge, dog, self, friend, mirror and even you, when you are just too tired from cleaning walls that you decide that a multi colored ankle and foot are currently the best place to create masterpieces.
One day I awoke and realized that my kid is now starting to acknowledge the lines, she was starting to see the bigger picture or the actual picture. Creativity did not seem to be screaming for a maid to follow it around, cleaning up all the masterpieces. She was starting to color the pictures, finding sense that made sense to you. It was so exciting, I could join in on her crayons and color the ugliest cartoon characters with her, but I really could not pick up my crayons just yet. Her creative legs were learning to walk and I never wanted her to feel discouraged if I went dancing by her. So I got to learn how to sing (even in my sleep) songs of praise over her most perfect picture ever!! "This should be on display!" And all the while I am dreaming of the beautiful pictures I want to create, all the masterpieces that she has the potential to unfold. Imagination and endless possibilities of sheer genius masterpieces. And so I found myself adding more and more crayons to my place, expanding my world, as I wanted her world to expand too.
Suddenly I am looking at my child eye to eye, she is showing me her sketches, her secret masterpieces of emotions, her color array. I realize that she is showing a completely separate piece of paper that was not from my original coloring book but was a part of it all the time. She was adding her own pages and in turn allowing me to find some coloring pages for me. I was beginning to see her find pages to color, to create, to live. I get to be a big part of her pages and they shall forever be in my coloring book for adults, but I am also finding myself placing in my own coloring pages. I get to find ways that relax, soothe and calm me. I get to create, dream, cherish my own pages. I get to add to the book as I see that from the poop-stained pages of the beginning to multiple contributors, it is the most amazing masterpiece of them all.
I was thinking how when I was handed my first child my soul got its first endless coloring book.
The first year is just blank pages splattered with all things baby... drool, spit up, pee, and the all too lovely explosive diaper remnants. There were seconds between the sleep deprivation, the body transformation (which resembled nothing close to what I had pictured in my top 10 acceptable "after baby bodies"), and the hormones, that resembled a crying freight train not sure where the track is. I would find those seconds found me sitting and wondering if there were any crayons left in my place, that I call me.
For the next 5 years I discovered numerous moments where cell membrane images, which of course is our family, slowly turned into aliens (the scary kind) each one in-between morphing into an animal or human. It was as tho I was watching our family go through Darwin's evolution theory poster. But how exciting it was to introduce her to creating. She loved to pull out some paper and color all across the table, floor, fridge, dog, self, friend, mirror and even you, when you are just too tired from cleaning walls that you decide that a multi colored ankle and foot are currently the best place to create masterpieces.
One day I awoke and realized that my kid is now starting to acknowledge the lines, she was starting to see the bigger picture or the actual picture. Creativity did not seem to be screaming for a maid to follow it around, cleaning up all the masterpieces. She was starting to color the pictures, finding sense that made sense to you. It was so exciting, I could join in on her crayons and color the ugliest cartoon characters with her, but I really could not pick up my crayons just yet. Her creative legs were learning to walk and I never wanted her to feel discouraged if I went dancing by her. So I got to learn how to sing (even in my sleep) songs of praise over her most perfect picture ever!! "This should be on display!" And all the while I am dreaming of the beautiful pictures I want to create, all the masterpieces that she has the potential to unfold. Imagination and endless possibilities of sheer genius masterpieces. And so I found myself adding more and more crayons to my place, expanding my world, as I wanted her world to expand too.
Suddenly I am looking at my child eye to eye, she is showing me her sketches, her secret masterpieces of emotions, her color array. I realize that she is showing a completely separate piece of paper that was not from my original coloring book but was a part of it all the time. She was adding her own pages and in turn allowing me to find some coloring pages for me. I was beginning to see her find pages to color, to create, to live. I get to be a big part of her pages and they shall forever be in my coloring book for adults, but I am also finding myself placing in my own coloring pages. I get to find ways that relax, soothe and calm me. I get to create, dream, cherish my own pages. I get to add to the book as I see that from the poop-stained pages of the beginning to multiple contributors, it is the most amazing masterpiece of them all.
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