Stick your hands in the paint
An Honest Experiment #29
I just had to share this story with you. It’s a bit all over the place, introspective, long-winded, you should know the score with this series by now, but bear with me, if you can.
The other night I was sitting at home flipping through channels when I came across TV’s favourite blue dog. Bluey Fest was on. ABCKids was counting down the best Bluey episodes as voted by viewers. It was nice to take a pause and enjoy some time with the Heelers, but it was close to 8pm and I had missed the whole thing. Not wanted to let the good feelings die, I went onto a streaming platform and replayed a couple of my own favourites, namely ‘Daddy Dropoff’, a day-in-the-life of Bandit (Dad) dropping Bluey and Bingo off at school in the morning, as told by Lila on her first day of kindergarten.
Someone in the room with me asked me a question: Do you remember your first day at kindergarten?
I do have vague flashes of the day. I remember my maroon school dress and my white cardigan, my wide-rimmed, navy blue hat, how excited I was. But one core memory I can home in on was the amount of kids who were wailing because their parents were leaving them there. I remember thinking ‘is this how I’m supposed to act?’
Sitting on the living room floor remembering this, another instance came to mind where I did what everyone else was doing and thinking ‘I’m supposed to be like them,’
During an intense thunderstorm (intense for a bunch of 4 year-olds at least), three girls in my class were terrified. I was never afraid of storms before then — my mother taught me that lightning was beautiful, thunder was Zeus talking, and to me Zeus was a funny character in a Disney movie, I had no reason to be scared. But seeing the other girls cry made me believe I should be. I must affirm that I am indeed a little girl, and I must show that I am scared and helpless in order to be accepted.
Oof… that’s a whole other can of worms I won’t get into.
Pondering this as Bingo and Lila , my brain does the thing it always does; it digs. When did my fearlessness leave my body? What made me so doubtful of my innate curiosity, my bombastic nature? Why had I lived my life from then on and up to this point to try and fit in?
It started with an attack — Art Attack.
I don’t know if you remember the old British tv show called Art Attack. Those drums were the soundtrack of my early childhood (right next to Powerpuff Girls and Backstreet Boys). A great program that encouraged thrifty crafts and creativity, I had watched an episode where the host Neil Buchanan painted a picture using his hands. I had stars in my eyes, I had only ever used paintbrushes, a world of possibilities opened up when it came to my art, and I loved art.
Not long after watching that episode, I was having a regular day at preschool, and I remember so clearly the trays of blue and red paint laid out on the big activity table right in the centre of the classroom, sheets of paper stacked on the side. Now the place must have had some kind of renovation going on or something. There were paint rollers around, but I don’t remember seeing any tradies. Setting my sights on those big trays full of bright colours, my immediate thought was ‘Finally I get to try this’. I was so excited.
So I stuck my hands in the paint.
The reaction from my teachers and peers was the first time I had ever experienced humiliation. Kids looked at me like I was the biggest idiot in the world, my teachers dragged me away to clean me up. I felt dumb, and I hated it. That shame carried over, and I had waited and watched what everyone else did before taking any actions ever since.
It took me twenty-four years to start to unlearn that. Now I’m deciding adopt this simple philosophy: Stick your hands in the paint!
When an opportunity comes where you get to try out something you now know is possible, when inspiration strikes you, do it! Don’t think about the punishment only dream of the possibilities. Get a little messy, make mistakes, and the questions on whether or not it’s acceptable, shove it aside, they only get in the way, and you can always find out later.
Inspiration is fleeting, and we ought to grab on and use it as soon as it flies into our lives. It’s how some of our best creators make things that last lifetimes. Our best stories, artworks, movements, they come from that little spark that did not get snuffed out by shame. I invite you to look back to a time you were inspired and let it slip through your fingers because it wasn’t ‘normal’.
Stick your hands in the paint.
Because it’s just sitting there.
Because you want to.
Because it’s fun.
Because you can!
-M