On a dry autumn evening, the setting sun catches in the needles of a limber pine, sets the tree glimmering as if with raindrops from a summer shower. Each droplet shines, its own glowing globe. Sage and rabbit brush burnish golden, and granite glistens. The land whispers, wind over rock, through grass soft at the end of the day, and, as I listen, I hear it say that this study of light is a study of more, that it will darken with the falling sun, that it will catch itself tomorrow against new leaves, on the other side of pines, dancing with transposed shadows. That the light that shimmers in those delicate points in the tree before me never evaporates but instead turns and returns and touches into beauty many things, many places, in the course of one rotation of the earth.
Lately, I’ve found it challenging to get started on my writing each day. It isn’t that I don’t want to write; it is that there are so many other things taking up brain space that I find it hard to transition into creativity. It is a challenge to put aside my to-do list. I don’t love cleaning and making phone calls and answering email, but it usually feels urgent even if it isn’t. Besides, it feels really good to cross those items off that list. I’m also working a side job doing yard-work, and the progress on weeding and landscaping projects is immediately evident and therefore rewarding. Add in the rest of life (raising a 6 year old, wanting to spend time with family and friends, looking for opportunities to have real conversations with my husband), and I sometimes feel like I can’t pull my mind into the focus required of creative work.
Things like meditation and breathing definitely help, but the technique I’ve found most helpful lately is practicing “micro art.” The idea came to me from life-coach Martha Beck. On her podcast, in Episode 120: Microdosing Joy, she discusses the ideas in a book called Your Brain on Art, which posits that taking 20 minutes per day to enjoy practicing your favorite art (even humming counts!) can change your brain patterns, reduce anxiety, and generally improve your overall well-being.
To be honest, 20 minutes sounded like a lot to me. I usually set aside a precious hour and half to two hours daily to focus on my writing, and I’m always anxious to get started. So, I’ve been opening my writing sessions with just 5-10 minutes of micro art. I grab a sketchbook, a pencil, and some colored pencils or even a box of my son’s crayons, then work on a sketch while listening to a few favorite songs. Sometimes, I get in my micro art practice by drawing and coloring with my son, which double-dips on creative joy and meaningful time with him. And for the days when I’m not feeling particularly artistic, I just ordered an adult coloring book featuring horses. (I’ll admit, the coloring book feels like cheating, but it will make it easier to continue this practice even on “meh” days.)
I’ve only been practicing micro art for about a month, but I’ve found that I feel calmer and more open after about ten minutes, and I’m far more ready to dive into my writing if I take the time to “prime the pump” in this way. It also takes the sting out of the blank page — by the time I open Word or Scrivener, I’ve already been filling white space with images and color. Sometimes, I start thinking, “You know, I really should sign up for a water color class or something.” Maybe I will, eventually. But right now, 10 minutes of micro art a day is working wonders on opening the door to creativity, and that brings me back to joy every time. Really, who could ask for more?
My first micro art project was working on this color pencil sketch of a meadowlark. I based it on the cover photo from the June 2022 issue of the Wyoming Wildlife magazine published by the Wyoming Game and Fish. The photo was taken by Francis Bergquist near Saratoga, Wyoming, and I owe them a debt of gratitude for this beautiful photograph. Thank you, Francis, and thank you for permission to use the sketch on my website like this. Here’s a link to Francis and Janice’s website and the original image:https://francisandjanice-bergquist.pixels.com/featured/1-western-meadowlark-francis-and-janice-bergquist.html.
