By Leiflife

To Draw, To Dance

Thursday was another one of those days when I could "let up" on myself. I was able to ask myself the question: "What do you want to do?" I chose to come to the computer. Spend time with blip friends, responding to their wonderful photos and words...and then share my sweet little squirrel...and connection. Perhaps that was the theme of the day: connection. Affirming that reality: my desire to connect, I gave myself permission to open further to that place of deeper motivation. As I typed my responses, I became aware that I frequently missed keys, hitting the "wrong" keys. I observed the rather restless motion of my fingers, as they danced on the computer keys. The dance was becoming more important than typing correctly spelled words. So I typed the few words to go with my squirrel and went to the studio.

I have thought a lot about my shakiness when doing brush and ink drawings, and wondered if perhaps I've been holding what I did in the past over what I am doing now. What if my trembling hands could show me a whole new reality. Not perfect as I once knew it. What if I let them tremble along the path to their own becoming. Even if the lines become nothing recognizable, they will be true. And I will be free to draw with no expectation.

I put on Chopin's Nocturnes...thinking they could be background, but also...possibly...move the dance of my body...if it happened. I then took my place at the table...brush in hand. Gravity was essential: I let the weight of my hands connect with the weight of the brush and simply allowed the ink to find its way to the paper. I watched the trembling line appear, fascinated by the shape of the line and, surprisingly, the dancer forming. Proportions were of no importance; what mattered was movement issuing from a playful approach. And the freedom to let the sheets of paper fall to the floor. To let them be.

After four or five drawings, I rose to my feet and danced, at first aware of the stiffness of my body...and finally, forgetful of anything except connecting with the immediate moment. My body now was dancing the truth of my age and experience.

Back to the paper, but to the larger sheets on the easel. Now the dance backed up the dance, and though I retained the freedom of the earlier drawings, the tremble was less. My allowance of the tremble seemed to invite something greater to take over. Perhaps a balance between what was and what is now. Peace was made between my divergent selves. Connection...

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