Burnt Cheese and Blank Canvas

There comes a point every week where my groceries are more than a little sparse. It's during times like this that I start eating tater tots for two meals a day and finding a way to turn every scrap of leftover anything into a meal. And it is not at all uncommon during these times to find me sitting on my bedroom floor eating chips and salsa for dinner.

So tonight was much like any other night. Except that, through an unfortunate set of circumstances which I am sure Lady Karma set on me herself, just to spite my eating habits, I instead ended up with a bowl of stale chips and burnt cheese. Which I suffered through for all of four bites before throwing it out and digging into a brand new sleeve of Thin Mints. A much better choice, trust me.

It was during the Thin Mint course of my lovely dinner that a friend of mine mentioned on Facebook that he had "a couple of canvases that are begging to be painted." And something about that phrase just grabbed me, and wouldn't let go. A blank canvas. It always seems so symbolic and fresh. A blank canvas is full of possibilities. And I have always wished that I could paint, just so that I could throw myself into those possibilities.

I envy painters. One of my roommates (the lovely Stephanie) can throw herself into her drawings. Which are amazing, by the way. She can paint and draw and sketch, and I have trouble with stick figures. I've watched her focusing on her art, and you can just see that she's not even in our world anymore.

Then there's my dad, who paints some of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. And I've watched him take his paintings from start to finish. Sanding his own boards, making his own paint ... it is a labor of love in every way.

Musicians who can express themselves through their own songs. Dancers, who can take all of their emotions and fling them to the farthest reaches of the universe with movement. Even great chefs and bakers, who are suddenly seized with the urge to create something new and come out of the kitchen covered in flour and streaks of chocolate.

I want to come out covered in flour. Or with paint on my clothes, or bruises from choreography. I want my appearance to say, "I am a creator."

I don't mean all of the time. I'm not talking about buying into the "Hello, I'm a starving artist and therefore MUST dress a certain way" stereotype. But when a painter finishes in the studio, you can tell. There's charcoal on their hands and a far-off look in their eyes that says a part of them is still with their work.

Writing. Acting. Those are my areas. That is where I create. And unless you see the show, or read the book, you may never know how much I pour my heart and soul into my creations. I don't come out of my writing sessions with inkstains (or, in this day and age, keyboard prints) all over my fingers. But it doesn't mean I don't create. It just means you can't see it as easily.

My point? I did have one, back when I started this post ... a blank canvas can be anything. A stage. A scrap of paper. An empty space of floor where you try a new step.

Every day, find a new blank canvas. And splash yourself all over it.