How joy is a fuel

When I was a young high schooler I started going to an art class after school with my dear grandma.

In my family, on both sides, there are artists whose paintings I was used to admiring on the walls from a young age.

My grandma's, my father's mother's paintings were one of those besides my mom's and her sister's art.

So going with her to that art class was a big thing for me.

I remember the pressure though, that was building on my shoulders.

I was slowly dropping down my posture.

I was mentally drawn to feel sadness and despair.

All that was building up in me with the main thought of "I got to paint something that is worth an applause."

What a draining though to have for a young girl in her first night class for art.

I still have that cat which I painted with watercolors.

Its head is twisted unnaturally to look at you, like one of an owl.

With the colors of white, gray and slightly showing yellow.

I can still remember the feeling in my stomach from that art class.

Instead of the vibrant joy of free spirited creativity I felt shame, fear and anxiousness.

And all that because of that demanding thought in my head.

I got to make something worth an applause.

My grandma and the art teacher were both so encouraging for me.

If it weren't the reality that I had painted with my own thoughts I would have loved that night.

Later on I painted on my own many times.

Other times were like that one night at art class.

I got out of my art attempts tearing down the paper and teeth pressed hard together.

My whole body being stiff from disappointment.

"See, I am no good" echoing in my little dizzy head.

Sometimes I found the path to that happy place of vibrant joy and curiosity.

Then there came a season of explosive creativity splashed into the thick acrylic art paper.

Time after time I chose to step into those thoughts "I am already loved and my art is one expression of it."

Flowing out of creativity that's been set free from any boundaries.

Not tied to pressure of showing off or the bullying thoughts of "I need someone to applaud my art".

There was just that little girl in me and her vibrant joy of creative exploration.

She was on a beautiful path between a garden of roses and lilies when she suddenly found a field filled with wildflowers.

Wild, untamed splashes of colorful joy.

And she painted from that place.

Her joy was contagious in my art.

Mostly she painted animals, creatures wild and tame at the same time.

That season with that curious little girl awake in me and those hours of the joy of painting left a mark in me.

I learned to feel in my body the difference between perfectionism and excellency.

One of a cold grip that's squishing everything out of you while nothing is enough.

And the other, let's just say it like this.

That little girl in me knows it.

Contagious joy spilling all over.

Abundance of creative flow where your soul is refreshed like in a fountain.

When you go back to one of those moments of you feeling a defining, contagious joy, how did it feel?

And where in your body did you feel that joy?

It's such a beautiful gift to get to know, and it brings you to the very heart of any kind of art.

Full of life, like a symphony of colors or sounds.

And somewhere in there on that field of wildest flowers, that little girl in you, in awe.