I come from a very creative family.  My dad and his brother are artists. I grew up in a house which almost always smelled of paint. My sister is another talented artist. She painted a woman, all in blues, many years ago and I still think about it from time to time. Art can be powerful this way. Fish (my daughter) drew her first person the month she turned three. It was basically a potato with arms and legs, and I had no other children to compare her to, but I was still amazed and knew she was talented.

I never thought of myself as an artist, even though my dad loves to tell the story of how I drew a sunset using q-tips when I was 5 or 6. He was so impressed he submitted it to an art contest. They sent him a letter back chiding him. It was a child’s contest after all and my painting was clearly not drawn by a child. I have no memory of this, and though I’ve heard the story many times, it didn’t feel as though it was me.

But slowly, over the past few years, I’ve wondered if I might be wrong. I looked up the definition of ‘artist,’ just to be sure. Google told me it’s a noun with several meanings. The first is a person who paints or draws. I think this is where I got the notion I wasn’t an artist. I had never really been the type to sit down to neither paint or draw.

The second definition felt more encompassing: “a person who practices any of the various creative arts such as a sculptor, novelist, poet, or filmmaker.” This felt like a broad category, one I might be able to find a spot in.

I started by taking pictures, experimenting with different angles. I walked around taking pictures throughout my day. In the grocery store, at the park, and ALL over my house. It was terribly embarrassing for my teenager, but she got used to it. “Of course you’re going to take a picture of that!” was her cry when I inevitably broke out my camera, seemingly at random. Thank God for digital camera and gigabytes to store it all.

Then, right before Halloween I took a leather mask making class. It was for kids, but I wanted in too. Lately I’m of the opinion that it can’t hurt to ask, so I did. The instructor offered the class to me for free if I would assist him with the group. Totally win win.

I didn’t get a chance to work on my mask until after the kids were done, but as I labored quietly cutting, stamping, and painting – I was transported. It just felt right and my mind was clear. I was quite proud of the outcome, but thought it was too pretty to fit my Halloween costume.

 

I’d plan to be a sea witch the previous year, but time had gotten away from me. I’d started by plastering a mold of my face. I used it as an opportunity to scare my kid. A woman I once worked with said I must be a nightmare to live with after I’d recounted my weekend to her.  I’d snuck up on my husband while he was sleeping and ‘cat attacked’ him. In our household, a ‘cat attack’ is begun by silencing stalking a sleeping person. Then you pounce on them while growling, hissing, and generally pawing at them like a cat.

It’s actually way more fun than it sounds. For the attacker anyways.

But I digress. I decided I would be Queen of the Sea Witches. I was originally going to be just a sea witch, but as my friend Bree stated – might as well rule ’em.  I thought she had a point. It came out better than I thought it would. I had to keep reattaching pieces as they periodically fell off, but I didn’t care, I fuckin’ loved it.

Here are my two masks together, as they currently sit on my desk.

Lately I’ve found if I’m not creating something – anything, I begin to feel stagnant. Elizabeth Gilbert wrote a book about creativity called big Magic. It’s a good read. In it she said, “if I am not actively creating something, then I am probably actively destroying something.” This deeply resonates with me. My soul wants to create, and if it’s not art, it may be drama.

And ain’t nobody got time for that.

This brings me to last night. I’m in the process of creating a space in our bedroom for myself. I’m the only one who really spends time there, but it’s usually a mess and my desk tends to be covered in clothes and whatever else has been tossed there. This amount of cluster is not conducive to my relaxation or creativity.

As I moved things around, I uncovered this painting Fish had made many many moons ago, and also a Day of the Dead mask I’d made a few years back when I took the kids to a workshop.

I didn’t want to get rid of either and playing around, I placed one on top of the other. It actually kinda worked so I took it downstairs to find a way to connect them.

I busted out my trusty PVC cement. I wasn’t sure if it would do the job but it had proved itself useful in the past. I love this stuff. It has a strong smell, rather like a sharpie – which I strangely enjoy, and also can’t take too much of.

The applicator is really cute too. I know this is not a necessity – but it’s the little things.

 

The guy at Home Depot told me to store it upside down, or the cap would seal itself permanently. I put it in a bag just in case I didn’t tighten well enough, and it sealed itself to the laundry room cabinet. (I could see it happening.)

After leaving it for fifteen minutes, I tugged on the mask and it didn’t budge. I may have squealed in delight – I can’t remember, but a definitively did a happy dance.

Looking at it, I was reminded that our ancestors are still with us, an eternal part of our family tree, watching protectively over their kin… and probably laughing their asses off at our antics.

Maybe that’s reaching, but my soul had been fed, and I was content.