“I feel like my Soul is dying.”

The words I spontaneously uttered to a small gathering of women friends stunned me and rang unnervingly true. I felt the walls bend. I felt pinned by the stark naked truth of my statement.

Shortly before I uttered “The Truth, I came down with the flu and for a very long time (years actually) never shook the underlying sense that all the stuffing had been knocked out of me. Looking back, I clearly see that not only was I sick, I was also depressed. And creatively blocked.

Earlier that year my partner surprised me with a movie date. The movie: Thelma and Louise. The landscape of the southwest burned in me and a feeling of life stirred in my bones. A dictate rose up within me: Go There. At the end of the film, I sat in the darkened theater scrutinizing every detail of the credits waiting for the lines that would reveal this soul stirring landscape: Monument Valley.

Back at home I scoured a road atlas and found Monument Valley nestled at the very top border of Arizona, almost kissing Utah. I will go there, I vowed. And I did. It was my very first solo journey. I felt alive, scared but also brave, and self-reliant. From Monument Valley I traveled southeast towards Santa Fe, New Mexico to visit a dear friend.

By the time I landed north of Santa Fe, the next step became clear: Move Here. And I did. Sitting among ancient rock formations, looking out on the vast ocean of high desert, I saw that everything in this landscape was stripped down to its essence. My Soul spoke: “Nothing superfluous survives here.” I was ready.

Since childhood I had longed to be an artist, and loved to draw and paint. What I loved was the total absorption, feelings of solace, and refuge from the physical and emotional pain I experienced from having dwarfism. In those moments of creation I felt as if I’d come home and could relax. Creating art brought feelings of relief, a sense of mastery, and pure joy.

Over the ensuing years those feelings slowly eroded so that by the time I reached young adulthood I felt fettered, halting and self-conscious when creating. Perfectionism was strangling me and eventually I stopped all together (and got sick and depressed).

Out in the desert I came to the conclusion that if I didn’t at least try to paint, I would regret it at the end of my days. That was almost 30 years ago.

A few words about desire

As I was beginning to creatively unblock, I noticed a few things. Well, one really big, significant thing: when I was out driving around or hiking — anywhere really except my art-making space — I felt this desire to paint. Images would dance in my head and my heart felt lifted. I really, really wanted to paint.

Back at home, unable to paint, I felt something else entirely: empty, dull, and confused. I felt defeated. I often thought that maybe this art-making business isn’t for me after all.

Where did all that creative desire go? I discovered that my internal pressure to perform (make great art, no awkward first sketches allowed) stopped me before I even got started. And if I held to my vision of the end result too tightly my desire got strangled. Slowly, I began to let myself make marks. I let myself play with materials. Images emerged and if I let them have their own life they HAD more life.

I didn’t go it alone. I was gifted by two different friends two very significant books: The Artists Way, and Art and Fear. I worked with an art therapist. I lamented to a painter friend that if I’d gone to art school I’d know how to paint. She replied: “You learn to paint by painting.”

So I did. And didn’t stop…

Hello and welcome to the opening chapter of The Creative Thread. I’m a life-long artist, art therapist and teacher who has helped people of all levels of experience, find creative freedom, self-acceptance and deepen awareness through creative expression for the past 22 years.

This blog is the story about my journey to creative freedom. It’s also a resource for those of you who long to create and have been halted in one way or another by you name it: perfectionism; societal/cultural/familial expectations, ideas about what art is or isn’t, lack of confidence or knowledge about materials, and more.