Tag: painting

Hills of Dreams: Becoming What We Needed to See

Sometimes the universe whispers before it speaks.

Not long ago, I had the idea that I wanted to do something for the elementary school I attended as a child. I considered doing a mural or workshop. It was an idea that I mentioned only to my wife and scribbled in my journal. The very next week, no joke, I opened an email from the art teacher at Rolling Hills Elementary School. Her enthusiasm came straight up outta that computer. She had seen my work and wanted me to paint a mural. She had the will and the zeal, but no true idea what it would take or cost to bring it to pass. But I already knew it was destined to be. We trusted the process. Huntsville City Schools and local sponsors answered the call and the project was set in motion. We would call the mural, Hills of Dreams.

With mixed feelings I returned to those linoleum floored cinderblock halls where my own journey began. Rolling Hills Elementary School was where I first discovered the joy of art making as a thing, the exhilaration of diving deep into the creative process, seeing my work on the walls for the very first time. Where I walked with reverence into that precious carpeted library that served as a keyhole to the worlds of my interests. Where I watched a popcorn seed planted in a baby food jar sitting in the window, sprout and reach for the sun. Where at the end of my fourth grade year, the teacher gave me my pick of books on the shelf by her desk. I felt like I bit off a little piece of heaven that day. At that little cozy elementary school tucked into northwest Huntsville, nestled on a hilltop, the foundation who I am as a creative was laid. To create there again, among students and teachers, was more than full circle. It was cosmic alignment.

One day, while I worked on the mural in the cafeteria, a group of students came in to watch a film. Out of curiosity, I glanced back at the screen then noticed a boy with his face toward me. He wasn’t watching the movie at all. His eyes were fixed on me as I painted. I could feel him watching. Deep, steady, unblinking. I turned back to my work, brushed paint onto the wall, and later looked again. He was still watching. Still locked in. Of course it didn’t bother me at all. People always ask whether it distracts me when they watch or talk to me when I am painting murals. The answer is no because I see mural painting as a type of performance art. Interaction with the audience is an integral part of the work.

In that moment, I wondered What was that little fella thinking? Was he seeing himself in me? Was I looking back at me at that age? I thought about how vital it is to live fully in my space, to be visibly present on my wings. Because oh, what it would have meant for me to have seen that when I was his age. To see possibility embodied, to see someone creating, to see myself reflected in real time. That’s what doing what I do is about. It isn’t just putting paint on walls or pen to paper. It’s about planting visions. It’s about representing and recreating for inspiration. It’s about adopting the responsibility to be what I once needed to see.

Every child deserves a light to reach toward. Adults can use it as well. So what do you say we commit or recommit to standing tall in our space, to showing up fully, to inspiring boldly for the ones watching us with wide eyes, waiting for their own wings to sprout. Because Hills of Dreams is not just my slinging paint on a lunchroom wall. It’s an embodiment, an incubator for what belongs to every child or person with a dream bigger than their circumstances. It’s for all of us who dare to go for the dream and to forge trails for others to follow. In fact , as I consider it all, I think I’ve been dreaming too small.

Voyage To Now

As a child, I invested healthy chunks of afternoons and evenings lying with my back snuggled into the grass in my parents backyard staring up into the sky. Sometimes I would wonder what was out there. Mostly, I’d find shapes in the clouds, watch them float and transform, or when there were none, feel the wash of the calming blues stretching into forever. I couldn’t explain it then but that intense purposeful sky gazing was a lesson in mindfulness, being fully present in the moment. The intense gaze into the heavens took up all the space of yesterday and tomorrow, transporting me fully into those present moments. In the nowness of it all, I felt that no matter what, everything was alright right then and there.

As of late, I have come to the knowledge of a word called skychology.  Skychology is is a new area of wellbeing research, defined as the study of the relationship between looking at the sky and wellbeing . It’s been proven that the act of looking up at the sky can provide a sense of perspective and calm, making one’s problems and worries feel small in comparison. Furthermore, the big blue yonder brings about an increase in mindfulness, stimulates creativity, and providing mental health benefits at no cost but a glance upward.

Who knew? Apparently, I did, my friends did, and you probably did too. We didn’t have a name for it back then, but in our spirit we knew the sky had something to offer beyond planes and an occasional spaceship . We knew how it made us feel and where it took us. As children we accept what we accept without overthinking and smothering the moment with analysis. For me the sky was the embodiment of the word possibility. The 20th century artist, Pablo Picasso frequently called out being like a child as a characteristic of a great artist. One of his famous quotes reads…

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

Let us look to the sky and allow it to transport us into the now. Through the eyes of our inner child, we can behold the world anew. Simply allow yourself to be aware of something that’s always there. Night and day, through all seasons, good days and challenging times do not take away the sky’s healing powers. I’m sure you’ve heard that the best things in life are free. The effects of sky gazing, no doubt, one of them. Plug in when you can, there’s no charge.

Consider the idea of the sky as a canvas. The art reflects the artist. As the luminary Wintley Phipps once said. “God created this world from the timber of his creative imagining.” What if we saw the sky is a divine canvas, ever present, stretched overhead, free to all to reap it’s benefits. A space that is sometimes blank and sometimes predesigned to to put our lives in perspective. Back then, I didn’t know I wanted to be an artist when I grew up but the artist in me already knew. It was offering to me, the artist to be, a front row seat to the most expansive canvas of all time and the most precious moment, now.