Our one level New Delhi apartment was where I spent most of my life from 2010-2015 while I focused on raising our young kids, writing a little, and managing the extreme Delhi temperatures. This is where I also wrestled constantly with questions around my identity and purpose. It was a lovely space, but I often felt a bit confined. This is also the space where I picked up my brushes after many years and began painting again.
Maybe it was an act of desperation. I needed art on my bare walls, after all, and mall art was definitely hit or miss (mostly miss). I also craved colour and some semblances of my home country around our home. This is what I told myself as I gathered various materials from a local shop in my neighbourhood, and from my favourite bookstore in the mall across town.
So I had materials, but there was a problem. I was wired to doubt my gifts and to be overly critical of what didn't seem “perfect” even if I wasn’t sure what perfection meant. I think most creatives feel this way at some point, if not continuously. The desire to create and be seen coupled with the equal desire to hide.
It was a bumpy start.
I would paint something and quickly paint over it. My ideas and inspiration were above my skill, and I struggled to enjoy the process. Eventually, after many destroyed canvases, I managed to make some things I deemed decent enough to frame and hang on our apartment walls. Still, I would not seek to develop a steady creative practice for several more years. The idea that art could hold a consistent and necessary space in my life had not taken off yet and I was still fearful of the vulnerability required to create and then share what I had created. I could not let go enough of my own doubt to create from a place of freedom and not fear.
An artist’s life is one marked by creativity, yes, but even more so, vulnerability. When I began painting just for our home that was one thing—but when I began sharing that work in a public way, that did something to my creative process. I sketched out an idea, but it would turn and go in a different direction. The more I tried to hold onto an idea and wade in the waters of realism, the more the process felt painful and not freeing. I still had an idea of what I thought art "should" look like. But it was not the art I loved to create.
In the summer of 2019, I picked up some higher quality supplies and began painting with acrylics. I felt the urgency to create, but time, building up a cache of quality materials, and perfectionism made the process slow going. Still, I had a deep desire to make art, even if I thought I might be a fraud. Then, Covid happened.
Unlike many others, our family’s Covid quarantine was not unbearable, and we were fortunate to be able to still provide for our family while working from home. There were hiccups, but there was also space to dream and to set up a makeshift studio in my dining room since we would go months before hosting guests again. Quarantine forced me to chase after moments that would lessen the anxiousness and uncertainty of that time. From my corner of the dining room, I painted and felt a deep joy in the process like I had never felt before.
It was during this time that I pushed myself to let go of what I thought art should be and let my feelings and impressions dictate what was painted. This sort of letting go has been hard. I worry about what people think of me, and yet, much of the work I do, art and otherwise, is best served when I show up authentically. I’m a work in progress, much like the pieces I create, but the work of abstract art pushes me towards letting go of my own inner critic and towards releasing my fear of imperfection.
Art has been a journey of letting go of my narrow view of what “should” be and finding beauty in unexpected ways. Now, I paint for the process and the pursuit of creating something lovely. I use the time for prayer and meditation on scripture or reflections on the day. I get lost in the process of creating something new that flows from my heart and mind.
Creativity and the act of making can have a freeing effect on everyone. We are all made to be makers, but we stifle that when we tell ourselves "should" all the time and censor our instincts to create. Our hearts were not created to live in fear, shame, and timidity, but rather to bring ourselves fully to the work God has for each of us to do. In this way, we can inspire beauty and hope in the hearts of others.
Photo by Fallon Michael on Unsplash
