Pleasure Notes

via Fantasy Floral Designs

I’ve never had a wedding. I don’t have one scheduled for the near future. Or the far future, for that matter. I am tempted to create one, however, just to have an excuse to let Amanda Heer make me a Brooch Bouquet. Hell, I’ll grab a groom from my local Starbucks. I live in Hollywood, so the regulars there are kinda cute.

made with vintage brooches

You know how much I love real flowers. And how I strongly encourage everyone to have fresh flowers at home because of their magical ability to motivate smiles. But I’m also a big fan of recycling, of saving the planet, and of jewelry. Duh.

created by Amanda Heer

So when I stumbled across these stunningly beautiful, unique and creative works of art, I was literally stopped in my tracks. Bouquets made from vintage brooches. GASP!

via Fantasy Floral Designs

When I discovered they were made by a California entrepreneur, I was even more excited. Then I checked out Amanda’s charming blog and her company website, where I learned she is located in San Juan Capistrano. That’s where the little birds go, right? Swallows, I think they’re called. There’s a very romantic, sweet story I vaguely recall from my childhood… I think there’s even some famous folk song about the Mission bells.

THE POINT IS…

I feel compelled to celebrate this woman’s creations, and I don’t even know her!

Why?

Because this is one more bit of TANGIBLE PROOF that thinking outside the box results in stupendous success! DOESN’T IT INSPIRE YOU TO DO… SOMETHING?

created by Amanda Heer

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go dig through my vintage costume jewelry drawer because, yes, of course I have one…

What do you think? Thumbs up or down? Are YOUR creative juices flowing?

I met one of the OK Go guys outside a pizza joint a few months back. Hopefully, we’ll meet again because I MUST ask him how many takes it took to create this AMAZING video. PLEASE take a moment to honor this feat of imagination, patience, irreverence, and glee.

Doesn’t it just make you want to go find a warehouse, some paint cans and pulleys?

by ecotist/flickr

I’ve just leaped into an e-course, Across Mediums, created by Kate Swoboda to nurture creativity. My registration was a prize granted by the lovely Olive & Hope. I thought it would be a piece of cake. After all, I have a drawer full of art supplies, I’m planning to open an Etsy shop in March and the IRS knows me as a writer. I scream CREATIVE, right? Well, kinda. Upon reflection, I’ve realized my creative nature is frequently on the losing side of a constant battle with the part of me that desperately seeks approval.

The art supplies in that drawer are covered in dust. The amount of procrastination that proceeded my current drive to open an Etsy shop is EPIC. The quantity of files stuffed with story ideas far out numbers that of completed scripts, novels or short stories written.

I yearn to be creative EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY. And then fly to the kitchen for food, become obsessed with the dust bunnies under the bed, decide the cat looks lonely as she naps, grab the tv remote, or visit my yawning bank account online.

Anything to avoid the very thing I most want to do.

It’s not a pretty picture.

When I was a child, I wrote fairytales. The letters were backwards. Very little was spelled correctly. The stories were simplistic and usually involve unicorns. And I thought they were wonderful. I drew and painted and sculpted just to draw, paint and sculpt. Creating was A PLEASURE.

Because I wanted to EXPRESS. What? I’m not sure I even knew. I’m pretty confident it didn’t really matter. The moment was the reveal.

Then, at some point, everything changed. FEAR entered the picture. The need for approval. The need to not stand out, make waves, or get too noticed. The need to have a REASON for everything. The need to be BETTER THAN everyone else to be worthy at all. Competitiveness. Resentment. Jealousy. Procrastination. Money.

In the same way that dancing in front of the mirror and talking to my reflection while playing make-believe suddenly became an act of vanity, and then later an opportunity to pick myself apart and pinch the proof of my failings, making art transformed from being an act of pure joy to being not so far removed from a sin.

But I’m done. I’m 40 years old. Half my life (if I’m lucky) has passed. I want to be in communion with my true nature, with my creativity.

But the opponents are entrenched.

So, I’m changing tactics.

What is it they say? For every person called a terrorist, someone can be found who will claim her as a freedom fighter. While neatly (for the moment) side-stepping the socio-political implication of that statement, I must embrace its truth in regard to my approach to creativity. I think it’s time I terrorized myself a bit to ultimately gain creative freedom.

Put another way, I’m ready to walk through the fire and feel the pain of confronting fear, guilt, shame, and whatever else rears its ugly head as I commit to FOCUSED CREATIVITY for the next two weeks and beyond. Hell, maybe I’ll even dance to my reflection in front of the mirror.

What are you doing to embrace your true nature? And when was the last time you played with crayons? Up for some scribbling tonight?