It is one of my all time favourite things to do. Choosing the right colours to put down on paper is an exercise in trust – it’s a practice of trusting my inner experience of colours as they enhance one another, in sensing the stimulating energy that two colours placed side by side can have. What glorious playfulness! It takes me directly to my kindergarten days – Timmins, Ontario, 1962 – that wondrous classroom with Madame Pichette, with so many opportunities to play with colour.
That pull toward colourplay is something I’ve never lost, the desire to put them together in a way that makes them vibrate, that makes them so much more pleasing together than alone.
Lucky for me, colouring is part of my therapy to push depression away; double lucky for me is the wide availability of adult colouring books of late. (I generally run from trends. They really bug me, like I need to be told what to like or do or read! Argh! It’s a personal affront to my independent thinking and uniqueness! Okay, I’m over it now :)). I am thankful for the colouring books I’ve been given, and to those givers, know that they are steadily coming alive with colour.
Here are pages resulting from a 14-hour car trip to New Brunswick to visit family – such delightful people whom I love and miss – at a time when knitting while travelling was too demanding for my brain’s unfortunate condition. Colouring is also what got me through the early mornings while staying with a favourite uncle, a time of day when my brain is especially weighed down with fog; you see, colouring leaves my brain out of it, my fingers tap straight into my heart and sensibilities. It’s a way to extricate my true and authentic self from a body that is presently hampered by mental illness.
Keep the sunny side up!