Verdugo Tracy. - Paint Mojo,a Mixed Media Workshop. Creative LayeringTechniques for Personal Expression

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For Marco, Santana and Sienna...

I love you all the stars and every grain of sand in every Universe.

This book is for the quiet one sitting way up in the back of the room,

hiding behind her big ol canvas, hoping I wont notice her.

Its for the eager wide-eyed one at the front,

who jumps in with gusto and delight.

Its for the one who doubts his every stroke and color choice,

the one who listens and learns well for a while

... and then loses focus or gets impatient...

and does something on his canvas that sends him into meltdown mode.

This book is for the one who waits for instruction every step of the way, excited to try new things but anxious to step out on her own.

Its for the one whose life is in transition or despair,

the one who feels stagnant or lost,

the one who is flying with joy.

Its for the one who has learned grace and patience through experience,

the one who has been painting for thirty years but still loves to learn,

and its for the one who has never,

ever,

picked up a brush and dipped it into paint.

What an awesome, shiny, messy,

complex, perfectly imperfect bunch we are!

All parts of the bigger equation,

Tiny sparks of light from a far greater source.

You are all amazing sparks of divine love

with the unlimited potential to shine bright in this world.

You have a style and a presence that is truly unique to you.

It was as if Id entered a world of enchantment, of flowering cacti, nudged up against the base of palms, textured walls peeling in layers of magenta and turquoise, and everywhere, the aroma of Mexican spices.

Far away from the sounds of my suburban Australian upbringing, we wandered the cobblestone streets of San Jose del Cabo, Marco and I, in our first year in love, 1986. The familiar sounds of the lorikeets and kookaburras replaced by mariachis and street hawkers selling trinkets on outstretched, colorfully woven blankets.

Beneath a canopy of hanging plants we spied a rustic courtyardtables set for romance beneath a sky dotted with stars, couples drinking margaritas and cervezas. Later that evening, we bought our first piece of art together; a beautiful woodblock print of a bird escaping its cage.

Who are we if not a culmination of our stories?

A kaleidoscope of ever-changing moments, minute story bites, in which we perceive the world and shape our reality according to our thoughts, our beliefs and the input of those around us.

It fascinates me, this infinite possibilities universe, in which not one of us is the same as any other. Indeed, not one of us is even the same as our previous self from one moment to the next.

Each breath, each thought, each moment set in motion, sets forth a shift within us on a quantum level, and we are, in a sense, reinvented again.

Isnt that wonderful?

Each one of us made up of the same stardust and at our very core the same source and yet...

You are a totally unique expression of the Universe,

of the Creative Force,

an expression of a love so vast

that it is bursting in its enthusiasm to come through you

and yet...

we doubt,

we compare,

we hide our light

and declare our smallness.

What if instead, we recognized that each one of us holds a story of such depth and beauty that to share it would be to enrich the world in such a number of ways that we could not even begin to fathom what effect it might have?

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost.

Martha Graham

The stories of our lives leave marks on us and influence what we choose as our personal symbols. What stories have most left their marks on you?

Im sitting with my grandmother, circa 1971. Its just Nanny and I in the back room of the small rented, dark-bricked Bondi flat, where she lives with her partner, Fred.

There is probably some dreadful seventies wallpaper adorning the walls and a couple of vinyl chairs loudly shouting their era in lime green and orange, but even though I close my eyes to remember, I cannot see the details.

Just an image of my grandmother and me, sitting by the open window, intently watching the clouds float by and naming them in shapes of bunnies and chickens, flying pigs and hearts... just a feeling of love and belonging... and giggles.

Often, she takes my little hand and turns it over to trace the lines of my palm, predicting my long life span and the small troubles I might have along the way, how many children I will have and places I will visit. I look at her with eyes of total trust and my mind takes little leaps into possible futures. And then, as she has done many times before, she takes my small fingers in hers, gently strokes my fingerprints and says, You know, love, this world really is a miracle. To think that of all the millions of people God has put on this planet, there is not one person that has exactly the same fingerprints as you. Think about that! What a wonderful thing! There is nobody else exactly like you. You are special and unique!

Wide-eyed, I take in the wonder and magic of her words, until another puffy cloud catches our eyes and imaginations.

Some years ago I was mesmerised by an American TV show where the host would begin each episode by sticking a pin into a map of the United States while blindfolded. He would travel to the town or city, pick a name at random from the local phone book and call that person to tell him that his life story would be the feature of an upcoming episode. Invariably the astonished person on the other end of the line would be reluctant, protesting that his life was too ordinary, mundane or lack-lustre to be on TV. Usually the host would win him over, the film crews would arrive and, in every single case, something profound, inspirational and wonderful would unfold in the telling of each persons story.