This past Sunday, I taught my first Art, Meditation & Music class at The Art Club in Schuylerville, NY, and I wanted to share a bit about the experience because it was profound for all of us.
Six women joined us for a morning of guided meditation, beautiful live music by Dennis Dominick on his 18-string harp guitar, and abstract painting.
After more than 20 years of teaching classes, I've learned you never really know what someone brings into the room.
As I walked around, I noticed everyone getting into the flow of their painting. Shoulders were relaxing, facial expressions were softening, and everyone seemed completely focused on what they were creating.
At the end of class, each woman had an opportunity to share her artwork and talk about her experience and what surprised me was learning that all six women were navigating some pretty significant life situations.
Each had her own story, and each found something meaningful in the experience and the art they created.
It was beautiful to witness how spending a little time making art, listening to music, and relaxing their minds and bodies gave them an opportunity to release some of what they had been carrying.
I watched six women walk into class looking pretty serious and leave with smiles on their faces.
And I left feeling pretty wonderful myself.
But there was something else happening for me in class as well , something deep and heavy I was processing alongside with them.
The next day after this class, October 19, marked seven years since my mom died. This anniversary year hit me harder than some of the previous years.
My mom’s dog, Bowie, has been living with me since her death. He’s getting older, and his health has been declining. I know there’s a good possibility he’ll be joining her in the afterlife sometime this year.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what losing him will feel like, but I know that no matter how hard we try to prepare, we can never be fully prepared.
Having Bowie with me these past seven years has kept me connected to my mom in ways I don’t think I even realized until recently. He’s been this little piece of her life that I’ve been able to hold on to.
I decided to take this past Monday off from work to spend some time honoring my mom. I visited her grave and brought my paints to give a plant stand a little facelift.
It felt good to spend the day in the Catskill Mountains, reminiscing and painting at her grave.
As I reflected on Sunday’s class, I realized that I was carrying some pretty heavy emotions into that room myself. And even though I was the one teaching, the experience helped me process some of my own grief.
I think that’s something I love most about art. You don’t always have to know exactly what you’re feeling or find the right words to explain it.
Sometimes you can put some music on, pick up a paintbrush, and see what happens.
My art journey began because of my grief after losing my mom, and seven years later, it continues to be one of the ways I work through difficult emotions.
It’s also helped me bring more joy, confidence, and wonder into my life.
I’ve been learning to take life a little less seriously, work a little less, and make more time for things simply because I enjoy doing them.
And I’ve noticed that the more creative I become, the more energy and motivation I seem to have.
Art has also taught me to trust myself more. Every painting requires decisions about colors, textures, and what to do next. There’s nobody else in my art room to ask for an opinion!
Over time, I’ve noticed that making those little decisions has helped me become more confident in other areas of my life, too.
It’s pretty amazing what we can discover about ourselves when we permit ourselves to create, and I'm hoping to inspire more of you to start painting this year.
