“Painting is just another way of keeping a diary.”–Pablo Picasso

I used to keep meticulous journals. Please note the past tense there. Books and notebooks full of the day-to-day stuff. I don’t know why I stopped for certain, but I’m guessing it had something to do with the tedious nature of writing down emotions that I didn’t really want to talk about, not even with myself. Impatient have I become, indeedy, truly wishing I could get back in the habit.

Turns out I may be in some good company, though with drastically different results! That there above quote from Mr. Picasso really resonates with me. In particularly rough times, I’ve picked up a paint brush, maybe subconsciously hoping to walk away with something concrete to show for having to feel like I’ve been through the ringer.

I’m not saying a paintbrush is any substitute for a shrink, but when I’m feeling a little melancholic, it seems to be just what the doctor ordered. And it’s gotta be way cheaper.

Take the above painting (please forgive the photograph). It’s a time line of one particular journey in my life, and looking at it now, I feel the emotion of that junk and having survived it, coming out on the other side. It’s a gander at the temporal and the eternal, as I see it anyway. For me, it’s better than journaling. Something about creating an image to replace the abstract, so that when you’re incredibly caring hubs asks how you’re doing, you can simply refer him to the painting without rehashing it. Just point to where you are on the time line on any given day.

No, not really. But I swear, even finger painting is cathartic. Give it a go, yo. Remember, it’s cheaper than therapy. It’s actually fiscally responsible. Can you imagine Congress taking some time to finger paint together?

And I’ll leave you with that.

Anybody have a creative vice they’d be open to sharing? We’re (I’m) all ears up in here.