Tears in my eyes

and streaming down my face.

Image from allposters.com

On Friday, I went over for a quick visit with my friend Lee-Ann at her blog. On it was a link to Who Does She Think She Is? and listened to the film clip. Then I spent an hour reading everything available on the site, clicking on every link!

Years ago, as a teenager, I defined myself as an artist. I would hole up in my room and draw for hours. If I wasn't drawing, I was writing. I would escape the house and go to the park with a sketchbook or journal. I stopped writing the day my mother brought out my journal and picked a page and proceeded to read it, at the dinner table, with guests present. It was mortifying. That was 30 years ago. I have only just started writing again.

The most freedom I ever felt as an artist was during my stay at boarding school. I drew all the time. There was a lot of time to fill and I spent most of it in the basement classroom/studio playing with paints and charcoal. It was so liberating.

That all got packed away when I left for university then on to my first job. Then my next job, and the next, then my determination to prove myself got in the way of any free time. I worked crazy hours and escaped my personal daemons by partying just as hard as I worked. The charcoal, paper, paints, coloured pencils, brushes and sponges became a memory. Quickly forgotten in the time warp of career, travel, alcohol, relationships and general chaos.

Then I became a mum, having four kids in five years makes you realize that you actually did have free time when you thought you couldn't be any busier. Even though I hadn't created in years before their arrival I felt it leave: my imagination, my passion, my interest, it completely disappeared. The creative juices refused to flow. I was deserted. It was the saddest time for me.

Slowly, through photography and scrapbooking, and now writing and a remarkable number of on-line courses, I have re-built my curiosity, my drive, my creativity. The passion has returned! And with it has come guilt: the fear of being selfish. The fear that now is "my time" and I'll have to put it off, again.

So, go watch the clip. At this point you will understand the tears.