Namaste my friends

In my last post I shared with you a poem. Just another note as I said then. Today I find myself thinking about sharing a drawing with you. Or it’s a design, a ‘symbolic’ illustration. I’m not sure what to call it. Actually illustration is a good word in this case: I’m not exactly sharing it for its own sake, but to illustrate the topic for today’s post. Anyway, moving right along.

For a lot of years I have every so often had an urge to create patterns and designs, and just to colour in things. Just to see colour on the page I think. Just to be making them. They are of many and varied shapes and some are paint, some markers, and some pencil. I picked this one more or less at random so you can see the kind of thing I’m spending way too many words telling you about.

I really enjoy making these things. It can be quite a meditative process; of course mind can wander as always, but I find that if I just focus on the exact mark I’m making or a particular detail, then it pulls me in. Into the zone as you might say. In that sense it can be an intense experience.

And therein lies the problem: Sometimes, particularly with pencils I can be be so focused and intent, that I end up hurting my hand. Holding the pencil too tight, pressing too hard trying to squeeze more colour onto the page (that’s what it feels like anyway), or just old fashioned and typical impatience pulling me to push harder.

Whatever the cause, nowadays if I even begin to use a pencil (writing with a pen is okay for some reason) my hand begins to ache. It’s not terrible pain, just a nagging thing. But certainly it is what you might call a disincentive.

While I was looking through a pile of old drawings a couple of days ago, I thought, I wander if I can use my other hand instead? Now I’m not one of those people who can switch between hands with ease; if there is an opposite to ambidextrous, then that’s me. But I thought, I’m going to try anyway.

So I took a coloured pencil and paper and with my non-dominent hand (that’s an understatement if I’ve ever made one) and tried to just pretend I was colouring in some shape. No lines as such, just colouring in strokes.

Alien alert! That’s what it felt like. Completely and utterly alien. Although my hand wasn’t totally out of control, it felt like it was. Still I persisted, and you know I won’t say I got to the point of it feeling natural or fluid or comfortable, but I could tell there was potential for that to happen.

In a funny way it wasn’t even my hand that was the problem; it was more a mind or brain thing where I just felt out of joint, not connected or something. Quite disorienting actually. But I think I’m going to try again. At least I thought I can use my other hand for the big areas, leaving my usual one for the finer work when necessary.

I suppose it’s like anything new isn’t it? Or rather in this instance it was about realising I’m not able to do a thing, an activity that is meaningful to me because the way I was doing it was making it too hard, or even impossible. And actually causing damage.

Who can say why it’s only just occured to me after so many years of struggling with the issue (on and off). I guess, there’s a right time for everything, or as I often think, there is never a wrong time. Life just is.

Never too late as they say, to do it differently. I guess we’ll have to see what happens. I might end up ambidextrous, who knows? Mind you, don’t be expecting fine art or lifelike portraits with my other hand anytime soon.