Permission Slips

I think it's in Brené Brown's Dare to Lead that she introduces the concept and practice of writing herself permission slips—literal permissions written on paper. She tucks them into the pockets of her clothing. 

I remember her talking about permission slips she wrote before appearing with Oprah Winfrey on television. 

You have permission to feel excited. You have permission to giggle. You have permission to ask for a photo of yourself with Oprah.

The overarching permission is to not have to act 'cool,' but you'll notice how specific Brené gets.

About a week ago, a light popped on: I need to write me some permission slips!

Since then, when I catch myself up against internal negative energy, I pause to take stock, to identify my resistance through the act of writing myself a permission slip. I do not skip the writing part. I am as specific as I can be. And I am learning. A lot.

You have permission to take a day off from 'closing the circle' on your exercise app tomorrow if it's raining.

You have permission to ask Helene for help with the table in the Cash Flow Worksheet document she sent whose formatting keeps bedeviling you.

Yikes—the stories I tell myself. I can't take a day off? I have to figure everything out myself?

Ouch.

I feel relief each time I write a permission. I feel a welcome uptick in vulnerability and wholeheartedness. I am lighter of heart in general. 

I am grateful.

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About the art: In a sketchbook where I dabble periodically I rediscover a start from sometime back. Don't like it. Don't know where to take it. Decide to offload and transform some uncomfortable internal dialogue using writing as mark-making. Round all the intersections of lines and relax into the therapy of neurographic artplay. Ugly duckling to swan in short order!

No Repercussions If You Fail to Deliver
6.5 x 10"; acrylic, watercolor pencils, and marker
on sketchbook paper
neurographica
2023

The Go-Aheadness of It All

Here is another thing I like

about a good friendship,

the go-aheadness of it all.

You don’t have to knock

to come in the door.

You don’t have to ask

to look in the refrigerator.

You want coffee?

Pour some.

    —Elizabeth Berg, 

       Range of Motion

Two weeks ago, we headed to downeast Maine to hang out with can't-find-better friends John and Mary for a weekend of non-stop talk, lotsa laugh-out-loud, and lively long walks hither and yon. Sunday morning, early hours, I pulled out my sketchbook and got rolling with a mostly blind-contour drawing of a reading sofa and cushioned wicker chair in our guest accommodations. Blind contour is so deliciously wonky and satisfying.

early hours sketch

Want Coffee? Pour Some
7.5 x 8.5"; ink and watercolor pencils on paper
blind contour drawing
2023

Collage Collection

Early stages:

All developed but in original orientation:

On parade, one by one:

 

The Only Thing That Matters

When I studied with [D], 

he’d offer close critiques of what I’d written 

and then put my story aside and say, 

“But I might be wrong. 

And it really doesn’t matter. 

The only thing that matters 

is that you write your ass off.”

—Brian Morton, Tasha: A Son’s Memoir

And so it is with any creative pursuit, I think.

Even having come to understand that learning to paint happens by painting, and that the more I paint the more I learn, I can never get enough reminders and encouragement to just paint 'my ass off.'

Blue Skies for Days
3 x 3"; acrylic and collage on watercolor paper
abstract design
2023

Now You See It, Now You Don't

On my nightstand:

Cape Cod is a place

where buried things

surface and disappear again:

wooden lobster pots,

the vertebrae of humpback whales,

chunks of frosted sea glass.

One day there’s nothing; the next

the cyclical forces of nature—

erosion, wind, and tide—

unearth something 

that has been there all along.

A day later, it’s gone.

—Adrienne Brodeur, Wild Game

On my easel:

What has been there all along?

What is gone?

Where's the ebb?

The flow?

Nautical Nod
3 x 3"; acrylic and collage on watercolor paper
abstract design
2023

Pounding a Gavel

Seems to me my attention and my intentions are skittering all over the place of late. Time to pound a gavel and impose a smidgen of order, such as it is. To that end, I return to the series of small collages I've been creating, collages whose beginnings took place back in March with friend Bo.

Fun With Fuschia
3 x 3"; acrylic and collage on watercolor paper
abstract design
2023

Grabbing at a Potted Plant

A baby will grab at a potted plant

because it looks interesting and new.

If it topples over and spills out

they start playing with the soil,

eating it, 

feeling it,

pulling the remaining plant apart

and sitting proudly 

in the centre of their efforts.

What has been ‘created’

might seem to be a complete mess,

but it’s also an innocent 

and informative

investigation.

—Philippa Stanton, in Conscious Creativity

I pulled another plant off the shelf today.

Tailored Touch
3 x 3"; acrylic and collage on watercolor paper
abstract design
2023