Written by: Collette Cottingham; Anontropolis
I had lunch on a bridge. This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. This place reminds me of my grandmother. I parked on Lilac. Why? Because it was her favorite color. Just seeing the word makes me smile. She is still here. I carry her with me.
The meal was pleasant, surprisingly there was no conversation, even my thoughts were quiet. I was people watching. The bridge has multiple view points. On one side is a view of the street. The other side has a view of the escalators. Below me is a large stone map for people to walk across.
The bridge is perfect for people watching. I can gaze at people and find my next character. I love everything about a person right down to their mannerisms. Sometimes people catch me “people watching,” …awkward.
Next I crossed the bridge and ventured out of my comfort zone. I need to be uncomfortable in order to stay inspired. I went to the pottery shop. I am not an artist. I can’t draw let alone paint. But there I was…I reminded myself that artists come in many forms. My writing is my artwork. I enjoy writing, I enjoy dancing…time to cross the bridge.
The shop was color coordinated and organized. I was in heaven. I selected a small bowl and ten colors. I realized painting is foreign to me. My people watching skills kicked in. I began to observe those around me.
Besides being fabulous artists they helped me figure out a palette, brush strokes and brush size. I discovered my pot had a defect which I thought was perfect. It was just like me.
I carefully painted my bowl. I could have painted forever. I kept wanting to fix things and add a little more here and there. I began to understand why artists spent years on some works and why others were never finished. I beamed with pride at my bowl.
I crossed the bridge into creativity. I felt inspired and joyful. It is these little moments that keep me filled.
Tell me about a bridge you crossed?
Write On Ladies, Write On