ghosts from the past

I’m sitting here making some final touches to the creativity workshop I’m running tonight.
 
Doing this work has reminded me of all the people and systems that failed to nudge me towards my creativity.
 
The face, voice and venomous grimace of my year 5 art teacher Mrs Kennedy springs up in my mind as clear as day.
 
The way she’d smack her hand to her head and say ‘duh my brain hurts’ in response to any question from one of use.
 
How she’d aggressively trace her finger across her forehead and shout ‘do I have mug written here’ if she felt her authority was in any way threatened (it never was).
 
We wouldn’t dare.
 
I mean my goodness we were 11 years old.
 
She was terrifying.
 
Rather than art class being a space where I could play, explore and tap into a source deep within me, I instead shrivelled.
 
I’d spend the whole lesson with a bulging knot of anxiety in my stomach trying desperately hard not to draw attention to myself.
 
She shouldn’t have been there.
 
I feel sorry for her now, looking back I’m sure she wasn’t well, but still her poison embedded itself in me.
 
I think many of us have a Mrs Kennedy in our pasts.
 
Someone or something that curbed any quest to step outside of our logic brain and hold space for something less cognitive, less practical, towards something more magical.

Someone or something that told us don't bother with that, leave it to someone else, stop wasting time and get your head out the clouds. 

But these ghosts don't know anything about our creative potential. 
 
We all have this source within.

Some are just connected to it more than others. 
 
If you want to get closer to your creativity, feed your inner child.
 
Do what it wants to do.
 
Lie at the foot of a tree and spend time gazing at the canopy above.
 
Feast on colour.
 
Move without inhibition.
 
Grant yourself permission to touch.
 
Do something for the sake of it.
 
Follow what makes you feel alive, what gives you a rush of joy and lifts your feet off the ground.
 
Make, do, play, dream, sing.
 
Its worthwhile.
 
It’s important.
 
It’s honouring and meeting our inner child, our inventor self. 

It's making space for wonder. 

It's celebrating that which we can't explain.