The garden. After school. A glass of chilled white wine. Free Spirit, fresh in from Hanoi, has just arrived, her guitar slung around her shoulder. Behind me, in my artist's studio, all sorts of pastels, and oil paints, and paint brushes sit waiting for next week's art class. Creativity seems to flourishing these days in this city "Somewhere in Asia."
Free Spirit and I sing the songs she learned in India: Shiva, Oom, Boom, Krishna, Ram, and then she teaches me some new rhythms on my new drum that I bought in Bangkok. (Dum Dum, tak, tak, Dum tak, tak, tak.)
Last night, a group of women gathered for our first-of-six art lessons by an amazing woman. Last night, she taught us about the weight of paper, the binding agents for pigments, the best brushes to buy, and how to make books. I learned terms like "tooth" for paper, "soluble agents" for paints, and "pigeon-hole method" for binding the pages of a self-made book.
As I worked with water soluble pastels, water colors with names like "crimson lake" and "bentley blue", a chocolate 66B Derwent pastel, graphitone, and charcoal dust, I looked around me: tables of women, playing in color, and water, and the dust of pastels and charcoal. Buddha Bar music played on my ipod speakers. Each of us were in our own world, our own creative space. I had to wonder to myself,
"Where is this all going? What happens when a group of women is intentional about nurturing the creative spirit?"
Watch out, world. We are "powerful beyond measure." And something as strong as the tide of the Andaman filled me from head to toe. This is my dream: to learn from other artists and to share my home as a creative space with others. Something magnificent will come from this. I just know it.