April 13, 2014 In appreciation, art, creativity, fine art, imagination, inspiration, life and the universe, work and play By Patricia Saxton

Searching for Buffalo

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“Searching for Buffalo” / oil on canvas / Patricia Saxton

Several years ago I’d lost my way, so I ran away from one life, back to myself. Ten days turned into three weeks; three weeks turned into six months. It was probably the best gift I’d ever given myself ~ in essence, permission to do what I love; permission to follow my spirit.

It was a time before I became a mother, before I owned a home, before all the responsibility that comes with those kinds of major territories. I had my business, which I packed up (files, computers, printers) and took with me, along with my two cats, a heart that was tangled up in a very wrong place, and a strong desire to feel good, to spread my wings, to reach higher. It was the right time.

After my initial excitement, I will tell you this: panic set in. Friends had helped me drive across the country to the most magical part of the southwest, where I’d rented an incredible home owned by two artists situated on the edge of a national forest, and after I got settled in, and they left, there I was ~ face to face with nothing but myself, my dreams and the sound of coyote calls in the night. I was there to do something I’d often imagined ~ doing what I loved in a beautiful setting, unhampered by schedules, with no distractions, no blockades, no big worries, and with sudden, deep dread, I thought, “What if I fail?” “What if all this creative passion I’ve felt inside is just a cosmic lark? What if I freeze up, if inspiration doesn’t actually flow? What if I’m just kidding myself?” And the answer was, “Well, you’re about to find out.”

So I went to work doing what I set out to do. Following my instincts. Moving as the spirit moved. Every day I hiked, I swam, I painted, wrote and played the piano. I was a river overflowing. I could hardly keep up with all that ran through my veins, onto the canvas, the paper, the keys.

I made friends who introduced me to healing practices beyond measure, other friends who showed me the back roads. I became intimately engaged with the soft, red, craggy earth and rocks that loomed high above and all around. I ran with the open sky, I searched for buffalo, and I discovered a warrior inside.

There has never been any turning back from this experience. Bumps in the road, absolutely. Hard times, sure. All the stuff of life. But I can go back to this place in my mind at will. I can feel the warm rock beneath my back, the big sky above. I can recall the warrior. I can pull up the magic. And most importantly of all, I can know what’s possible if we give it permission.

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September 27, 2011 In art, creativity, philosophy By Patricia Saxton

Why I Don’t Paint Trucks, Write Computer Code or Eat Fig Newtons

Back when I was fresh out of college and not yet sure what I was going to do with my life, my eldest brother had a serious jeep-racing hobby. He had a bright yellow jeep, and asked me to paint Disney’s Pluto on the back end, along with the words “Old Yeller”. I thought that was a fun idea and it made for a great conversation piece at the races. Everybody loved that old jeep with Pluto-on-wheels emblazoned on the back.

But that exercise taught me that I wasn’t a truck painter. I didn’t have the right tools, it probably took me a lot longer than necessary, and I didn’t want to invest in tools for something that most likely would not be part of my artistic future. (Sometimes you just know these things.)

So, some years later when I was well into my graphic design business and designed a logo for a Rose company, I made sure they had a professional car/truck painter paint it on their truck. (and it looked fantastic, I must say ~ wish I had a picture of that.)

As for computer code … sure they get kids out of school designing web code AND cool posters, but it’s a very different set of tools used, and I’m not convinced it makes for excellence in either arena.

Not saying one can’t be both right and left brained, but I guarantee that most programmers will admit their design skills leave much to be desired. And I know for a fact that a good designer’s time is much better spent on what they do best. That’s why I don’t do code.

In a moment of madness some time ago, I did contemplate the idea of learning how to code, but, thankfully, came to my senses. Why not leave that to the pro’s, right there along with truck painting? Same goes for adding electrical engineering and brain surgery to my repertoire.

Which leads us to Fig Newtons. Truth of the matter is, I like them about as much as a screen of java script. That’s why I don’t eat them and am quite content to leave them for the figgy-snack professionals.

And the moral of the story is this: It’s intrinsically healthy to expand our skill sets and mental vistas, but at the end of the day, we’re better serving up things we do well, feel passionate about and know we can deliver. Oh, and that life is short, so why waste any of it chewing on Fig Newtons.

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