There are lots of things that people
know about me. I’m not a very private person and even before the advent of
Facebook I shared too much information at will. Just without photos. Anyone who
has known me for five minutes knows I like vodka martinis, have a gluten
allergy, hate the cold, love animals, and hanging at local bars with friends on
Sunday afternoons. But there is one thing that I bet not many people know about
me. And that is that I like to color. Yeah, color. Not the crayon and Disney
character on scratchy pages kind, but the needle sharp colored pencil and
advanced color books type put out by Mindware and Brainiac. Complex, intricate
designs that repeat themselves in a mosaic or geometric pattern, or hidden
figures that emerge as I carefully choose each color and slide the end of the
pencil back and forth over the particular segment I am coloring.
I find it so meditative, relaxing and creative. Since I have
no drawing talent of my own, I enjoy creating colorful pictures without the
struggle of creating the images as well. I like the focus of staying within the
lines, pairing colors together or coordinating their juxtaposition, but at the
same time, applying the color to the page, either with a light feather swipe to
produce a whisper of pastel or a hard bearing, indent creating firm pressure
that pinches the tips of your fingers to make harsh bold colors from the same
pencil. When I was a kid, I don’t remember enjoying coloring. I remember being
impatient about having to stay within the lines – yeah, I got reprimanded – and
I was more interested in peeling off the paper of the crayons than creating
pretty pictures. My coloring then was kind of crazy swirling tornados of color,
with holidays and gaps in between and no consistency in the color from one
stroke to the next.
Today, when I color, sometimes I intentionally try something
weird or off, take a risk with my coloring that I wouldn’t have done as a kid.
Like blue trees or brown flowers, or purple people. Or putting neon orange and
green right next to each other – and a fuchsia pink, too. Wow – ugly but
daring. And freeing. Because the results of the coloring doesn’t matter. It’s
the journey now that I enjoy. A few stolen quiet moments of contemplation that
don’t have any right or wrong or disastrous implications or consequences. A
break in the day of deadlines, responsibilities, and hard thinking. Just me and
my colored pencils, my sharpener and my book. My private time. My peace.
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