So I have to share this excerpt from the wonderful book, Life, Paint and Passion by Michelle Cassou and Stewart Cubley. Perhaps, like me, you can relate.
In this chapter, one of the authors is helping a student during a painting session....
"Don't make it so important," I said. "Just play."
"I can't," she said, "I'm too controlled." It was true: she was a responsible woman, she had a good, quick, analytical mind, and she was overusing it. The child in her seemed absent.
"If you were five years old, what would you paint? I asked.
"A little girl."
...a few minutes later she had made a childlike painting of a little girl wearing a colorful dress and a bow in her hair."
"I want to be finished," she said anxiously. "It is too silly, too stupid." The fear of being ridiculous was very strong.
"Don't give up now," I said...
"There's no meaning in it," she said, longing for sophisticated symbols.
"Play for her was a waste of time, silliness reserved for unevolved beings. And yet she was struck by how pleasing it was to do it...
So she painted a dark brown ground and a sky and a red flower with roots and later on a bright yellow sun. She was thrilled and disturbed. How could she ever fit this into her life? And yet she had to admit it was the best time she'd had in days..."
At what point do we stop being afraid to play and just do it because it's fun? Do you remember when you could play so easily?
How 'bout relearning how?