In preparation for the CreativeJournaling Workshops I am running, part text, part visuals, I set myself the word ‘blue’ as the starting point to do some flash (5 minutes) writing.
I wrote about a turquoise dress my grandmother had sent to me, from Oulton Broad in Suffolk, to my 5 year old self living in Tanzania. It had been sent my sea, wrapped up in brown paper tied with string. My mother would point to the swallows telling me they too had come all the way from Grandma. I wrote about buying my daughter 30 years later a similar blue dress, from Marks and Spencer, I wrote about passing it on to her cousin.
So through the objects ‘turquoise dresses’, I was actually writing about the thread of maternal love running across time and space, through generations, wrapping around the earth, the invisible tides of family.

Moving on to the visual side of the journalling I ripped through a load of magazines looking for blues, tearing, focusing on shades, on tones, a pile of blues.
Then it was time to quickly tear and paste them down.

I needed to leave, I had an appointment, I left the flat and I stepped into a brilliant blue morning. I was grifted with a summer sky, with a sliver of rainbow fractured light on cloud.

The feathered clouds highlighted the blueness of blue, it was breathtaking. It was a master class in mark making, way out of reach, full of delight.

Is it that engaging in a creative activity however rough and ready in itself :
Produces serotonin in the brain?
Creates a force field and draws wonder in?
Is an access to serendipity?
Tunes in to a wider/deeper field of experience?
Shows what you focus on is what you get?

It leaves a tail of ideas to follow, creativity breeds creativity.

 

 

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