Links from the Show at a Glance:

 

Artist: Melissa Dinwiddie

Title of Art: Stitch River Yes

Artist’s Website: melissadinwiddie.com

Instagram: @a_creative_life

Get Melissa’s book The Creative Sandbox Way (the 1st 50 pages are free, go download it now, what do you have to lose?)

 

Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs

 

Art Ink Podcast Transcript:

 

[Art Description:]

 

Melissa Dinwiddie’s mixed media painting, Stitch River Yes is one of three paintings that hang in my studio, and it’s my favorite of the three. It’s made of crackle paste, laid thickly upon a small canvas, painted with teal blue watercolor. One thick, deep, wobbly vertical line, resembling a river, was created by removing various bits of the crackle paste along the jagged edges that the medium creates as it dries. The river is painted darker, and it’s more brown than blue.

 

The word “yes,” created with an old fashioned typewriter, is cut out and pasted dozens of times, in a strip going down the right edge of the piece, with fewer words at the top of the line, and a thicker cluster of “yes”es towards the bottom. The words wrap around the painted edge of the canvas.

 

Abstract, cat-whisker-like stitching completes this work. Some of the stitches cross the river, as if holding it together. One tiny, type-written “yes” is pasted atop each stitch.

 

[Story:]

 

The wind was blowing through my hair. Birds were singing. The sun was shining, and caressing my skin with a blanket of warmth on that spring day.

 

I sat on the big rock in my front yard… I’d been planning an inspired day of writing since the day I first set eyes on the natural chair outside my dad’s new house.

 

At first I just took it all in, the warmth, the rustling songs of nature moving and waking up into spring. I looked out at the neighborhood, and the sky with passing clouds. I was feeling… happy… but I still wasn’t inspired.

 

I opened my pink binder full of loose leaf. I stared at the blank page.

 

Why wasn’t I inspired?

 

I wanted to write but there weren’t any words. There wasn’t anything interesting enough to say.

 

“Write what you know,” echoed in my head; the common advice I’d heard and read from all the experts everywhere. I didn’t know anything. I was only 13.

 

What I didn’t realize was that I knew enough… that the experience I was having that day was enough to put my pen down and just start writing.

 

It wasn’t until I started reading Melissa Dinwiddie’s work, many years later, that I started to realize where I was going wrong.

 

Number five of the ten guideposts in her book, The Creative Sandbox Way, is to, “Just start anywhere.”

 

Oh, I could’ve used that advice as a young writer… I shut my pink binder that day 20 years ago without writing a single word. I found it years later, this binder meant for my writing, and it was still totally blank, aside from some yellowing around the edges from all that waiting around.

 

“Just start anywhere.” I’m so grateful for these three words. In fact, just starting anywhere is how I started writing what you’re hearing right now.

 

I had Melissa’s painting and the urge to write about how it inspired me. But how? There’s so much! How could I begin to sort through the journey this piece has taken me on?

 

The river running through Stitch River Yes is like my fear: so deeply etched in my cultural programming, in my human instincts.

 

Fear: this safety precaution, this emergency brake that stops all except your fight or flight instincts and adrenaline.

 

Me: I want to start a podcast!

 

Fear: But what if you’re too busy to release an episode every single week? If you’re not as perfect as a NPR radio show, in quality as well as consistency, well then you’ll just suck, and no one will take you seriously.

 

Me: I want to tell stories.

 

Fear: Who cares about your stories? No one will listen. What could you possibly write that will matter?

 

Me: I want to write stories channeled through the experience of other artist’s work.

 

Fear: You are not qualified to write about art much less interpret it. You know nothing about art. You’re going to look stupid. People will find out how stupid you are when you interpret things wrong.

 

Me: You know what, Fear? You’re getting a bit ridiculous. How can an interpretation of my own experience of something be wrong? I think I’ll take the risk… because even if you’re right and all those things happen… I won’t be any worse off than I am right now.

 

No one can listen to a podcast that doesn’t exist. No one can care about a story that remains unwritten. No one can be an expert without first being a novice.

 

Fear? You still there?

 

…

 

Don’t worry, he’ll be back. His story doesn’t change. He cares about me, so I hear him out, but I can’t let him chase me away. At the same time, I can’t be afraid to face the possibility that he might be right, either. I have to say yes to the risks and move on, because when I really break it down… the worst case scenario rarely happens, and even when it does, I’m usually still alive after it’s all over, and I’ve likely learned something valuable from the experience as well.

 

I can’t make the fear go away… but maybe I can hold it together, not let it get any bigger, stitch it closed so I can say yes… so I can stay and fight. So it’s not so scary that I have to run from it. So I can flow with the fear, use the current as the force that drives me forward, instead of letting it flood over and drown my creativity.

 

It’s safer to stay on the banks of fear’s river, keeping the dark, dangerous rapids at bay. But if you want to go places… if you want to get there faster… well than the river of fear is much faster than the safe, slow hike you’ll take trying to avoid it.

 

Melissa’s painting is my reminder to fight. To say yes to the scary things that won’t stop haunting my thoughts.

 

I’m saying yes to being messy. I’m saying yes to creating work that might not be perfect. I’m saying yes to facing my fears. I’m saying yes to success AND failure, because one cannot exist without the other. And I believe, the point of life is to experience them both.

 

Besides, the idea of this podcast becoming the equivalent to my pink binder, with those pathetically blank and yellowed pages, is far scarier to me now than any kind of failure could ever be.

 

Because the simple act of doing something… anything, in this creative process is worth it.

 

Why? That’s something Melissa Dinwiddie can explain to you better than me. Her book, The Creative Sandbox Way, is an interactive workbook that I highly recommend for every person… not just quote on quote, creative people, but everyone. Because we. are. all. creative. But since you’re listening, I bet you’ll be thrilled to find out that a lot of the lessons Melissa teaches in her book can also be heard on The Creative Sandbox Way podcast. I will have links to both of these amazing things in the shownotes (which you can access directly from your podcasting app in the description of this episode.)

 

Now that, that’s settled… yay, I’m starting another podcast. Oh wait… I guess now I’ve officially started this podcast. Would you look at that?

 

What do I write? What’s the story? Where do I start?

 

“Just start… anywhere.” I have to remind myself of this every time I sit down to write. Every time.

 

And I guess this story, like our theme song kind of, but not really sings, is a good place to begin.

 

That’s it for today! A huge shout out to Melissa Dinwiddie for being a constant source of inspiration, courage, and self love. And, of course, a big thanks for allowing me to feature her work in this episode. Don’t forget to take a look at the image that inspired today’s story. It’s the cover image for this episode.

 

Find out more about Melissa at melissadinwiddie.com or follow her on Instagram @a_creative_life to see what magical creations she’s making right now.

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