My Body is a Canvas

I had registered for a drawing class, and a few weeks before the college semester started, I came into my mom’s art studio, moping.

I harped, “I can’t draw. What am I going to do, mom? I can’t draw. I don’t know how.”

Without a word, she stopped what she was doing, pulled out a Matisse print. Turned it upside down. Took a piece of blue chalk and put it in my left, non-dominant hand. She walked out of her studio, leaving me there to ruminate my shaky wavering lines across an empty page.

I loved my mom’s studio, light streaming through the windows, stacks of magazines and art collections. Paper and pastel inviting creativity and color splashed across the canvas. The easel in the corner with prints and bits of inspiration covering the walls.

What world will we step into today?

My mother was an artist, and as Multiple Sclerosis progressed over the years, the dexterity in her hands waned. Vivid portraits and landscapes transformed into abstract pieces of modern art.

The year before my mother passed away, she was overcome with fear. What if she couldn’t paint. Her hands ached. She couldn’t hold the pastel chalk in her hands. And she was giving up.

I encouraged her to keep going begging, “Paint me a picture of Allie cat for my birthday. That’s all I want. I don’t care how it looks.”

And she did. Of course she thought it was awful, but to me, it is my most valued treasure. The silhouette of a white cat surrounded by multi-color sparkles and a red heart balloon still perches on my desk calling me to overcome my fear.

Together, we had a mother daughter’s art show, her acrylics and abstract bursts of light overlapping angles of the natural world. As we hung our work in the studio, we laughed at how we each were perfectionists, how our passionate mother / daughter relationship would be passionate and frustrating at the same time.

Together, we overcame fear of our abilities, fear of not being good enough, fear of being seen in the world.

It is fitting that on the morning of the art show, we watched a blue jay push three babies out of the nest, knocking one off the branch when it hesitated. I was mesmerized by how the mother bird kept watch of her fledglings taking their first flight.

We are called to take our first flight, many times in our lives.

Even now, as I don’t know what to do with my body, the unique symptoms, the puzzle that no one can crack, the embarrassment. Even now as fear permeates through every waking moment. Even as I get to know how I am, a new vessel, a weathered vessel. There are still pieces of the body I am getting to know in this new way.

Some days feel more black and white, contrasts to each other without any room to move. And other days, my skin becomes vibrant dashing brush marks with intricate designs.

Our skin traces the experiences of our lives, the raw cracks and lines of a life weathered. The smooth silky skin of innocence and sensuality. Our feet with overlapping skin that has not yet shed. Bumps and bruises show how hard we are being in this world. Our hair looks like a wild woman before waking and is tamed throughout the day.

We regenerate entire new bodies.

While the myth remains that the body regenerates itself every 7 years, some aspects of our bodies do shed and are renewed. Skin is shed and renewed every 2-4 weeks. And some parts of our bodies remain with us throughout our lifetime.

The morning my mother passed away, I woke early and walked into her room, skin of ashen blue. The connection was immediate.

Our body is a shell, a vessel for us to stay in and play for a while.

We decorate our shells with the vibrant layers of a tiger’s eye.

What will today’s layer be?

Today is a blank canvas. To decorate, to pay, to bend, to splash color on, and to get to know. Becoming curious about what is emerging that is yet unseen.

What will be created in your life today?

 

 

Megan Cutter, Barton Cutter, or Cutter’s Edge Consulting do not provide any medical advice. You should always consult your physician to discuss specific symptoms and conditions. Please see Terms of Use, Privacy Policy, and Coaching Disclaimer & Liability.