CUSTOM ART

BITTERSWEET SYMPHONYCross CloseupCS Lewis Booklaurie_have mercyLVS_ God Of Second ChancesLVS_ Renew ReviveLVS_ To Know This LoveLVS_ You Split The EarthLVS_Driftwood bowllvs_Notre PereLVS_Our HelpNAVYAC QUOTEWHITMAN CALIG 2014Art Show Opening- Friday, April 3, 2009Art Show Opening- Friday, April 3, 2009photo-4IMG_0207Have Mercy on Me O God smallContact me about Custom Art Pieces: Lauriesoileau@gmail.com

We are all creative, though not all see or acknowledge it in themselves- let alone consciously practice the act of creating.

When people say I’m “creative,” I think they refer to the way I live attuned to all my senses, ready to hear, feel, taste, sense life in its many forms around and through me. Perhaps it is the way I frame the “whys” and the “hows” more than the “whats” of my everyday existence. perhaps it begins with the way I process information my body and mind take in in so many ways.

Sometimes I replicate what I see in ink, paint, paper, or photographic image. Other times I replicate my emotions through the moving of my muscles in a way we perceive as “dance.” At other times, I want to explore by mixing up what is into a new-ish sort of thing through the mingling of ingredients for a dish with new complexity of flavor, color or texture, or by designing a garden bed for a different outcome of timing, produce, or aesthetic. And at times, I feel a compulsion to manage the thoughts that spin through my mind by cementing them in my paper journal, blogging to share them with others, or twisting them into a poem.

In all honesty, I just think creativity is breathing, and breathing is creativity. We were made in the image of a creative God; Creator, God. We can’t help but “be creative,” until the expectations of people or culture stifle us, muffle us, suggest we ought to feel embarrassed by our own nature.

Yes, I have practiced a few things and gained some “artistic” skills here and there.  But the most valuable tools in unclogging the creativity that is our birthright are the relinquishing of misplaced expectations, the restoration of childlike wonder, and a willingness to break free of “learned appropriateness” in our bodies. These things allowed me to paint, to draw, to make bouquets from my garden, to see the poetry in all (well, most) things. Go ahead; flail your arms with paintbrushes in both hands; roll around in the grass, dance in the rain in your bare, muddy feet. Restore the childlike freedom of your spirit, and your hands will follow. You just might want to have some paints, wildflowers, and cool papers at the ready; you never know what will happen when you do.

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