"Shards of A Splintered Heart" - Painted with watercolor, memories and tears

While painting this quilt pattern, a small splatter of salty water hit the page.

A tear.

As I often get "lost" in the process of creating and go off in my mind to other worlds within this one, it wasn't really a surprise. It's happened before. Creating seems to lower my mental walls just enough to allow me to revisit old memory and witness a new perspective on some experience or relationship.

So, no, the tear didn't surprise me too much until I started following my thought-thread back to find the source of the moisture. Until that moment, I didn't realize I was giving voice to the pain—and healing—of losing my mother after a particularly long and vicious battle with dementia.

My mother was a seamstress of great talent, but making quilts were never her thing though she did make a few. She was more of a collector and she enjoyed them in her everyday world rather than keeping them for "company" or special occasions.
As I let the quiet tears fall, I knew they represented the stress and damage caused by an illness that knows no kindness and gives no quarter. They were for the years lost even though she was alive, for the impact it had on her, my father and my siblings as well as for the loneliness and lost feelings that still pervade my mind. And for the helplessness we all felt as we watched her mind being slowly destroyed.

As I followed my thoughts more consciously, I decided to give witness to the pain, guilt, loneliness, anger, frustration, and yes, even happiness, that her death brought. The swirling mess of volatile emotions, some seemingly at war with one another, were slowly brought to life on the page of my sketchbook.

When I began to lay out the quilt idea on the page, I made several changes from the original pattern I found. The shape of the heart (I made it fuller), the outer edges of the heart shape (I wanted it to be less fragmented) and the small splintered pieces inside (to represent my own emotional shards that have yet to settle) were either changed or added as I went along.

Much of the relief (and happiness) I've felt is in knowing she has set down the burden of her illness. The feeling of being lost and lonely sidle up next to the gaping hole of lost love I will no doubt feel until I no longer walk this earth. Anger that I lost so many years with her to this insidious disease and bewilderment that she's truly gone. All of this was and is overlaid with frustration that there was nothing, absolutely nothing which could be done to slow or stop the illness.

As I poured forth that complicated mess of feelings, I began to feel lighter, a lessening of the weight that seems to have been stifling my soul for months now. And while the weight is not completely gone, the slight lightening gives me hope that it will eventually be transformed into something different and new.

They say time heals. I say art heals more. I am ever so thankful to have an outlet by which I can process the big and little hurts we all encounter as we stroll upon the surface of the earth.

I call the image above Quilted Madness. There are 100 little squares in that piece and every single one of them is different from the others. Oh, and the overall size of the art is 4.5 inches by 4.5 inches!

Crazy?

Yes, but it served its purpose.

I detest sitting around without something to do and if you've spent much time in doctor's offices or physical therapist's offices, you know there isn't much to do except stare at gossip magazines, other patients or at the generic art on the walls.

Since wait times are a necessary evil in our society and because I've been spending far more time in these offices than I normally would due to my father's back surgery and physical therapy, I had to come up with a way to combat the dreaded staring.

Yes, I could have read a book, and yes, that would have been entertaining, it's usually not creative.

I started coming up with projects that I could stretch over several appointments where each step took only a small amount of time. This allowed me to stop in the middle without it being critical to the piece of work.

I also didn't have to worry if I would remember where I left off and what I had in mind when I did stop abruptly because my father's name was called.

These types of projects worked well to keep creativity at the forefront of my mind but without stressing myself out.

The quilt was especially challenging (more than I realized) as I had to really push myself to come up with different textures for each square. Many are similar but none are identical. Then I had to think about color. I started in the center and planned to work out to the edges, but somewhere along the way I forgot my plan.

The next thing I knew, I'd put a colored block into a section I had intended to leave white. Instead of scrapping the project, I simply made an adjustment to the layout and kept going. I still didn't stick to my plan though. By the time it was done, I had sections filled in all over the place.

I had to check and recheck to make sure I was in the right square, but it did a beautiful job of filling those long, boring minutes with something creative and fun.

Am I always successful at creating on these doctor visits?

No.

Sometimes, I needed to change it up. Art wasn't always the answer and reading didn't always get it, but between the two, I always managed to pass the time.

Another take type of project is to take a line for a walk:

I started in the lower right side of the paper with the paisley shape and I simply kept adding until I had filled most of the page. While it looks kinda zentangle-ish, it's not. It's more about drawing a line in a random pattern and then filling the spaces with shapes and pattern. It's generally not organized and rather chaotic.

I did most of the drawing during office visits and then added color all at once as that was a bit more intensive than the drawing. Painting in some of the smaller shapes would have been quite doable in the office, but the background would have provided a far bigger challenge.

Being creative with downtime can be pretty simple and easy to do if you choose the right kind of projects. These may not appeal to you. Several artists I know use these (supposably) short windows of time to challenge themselves to sketch other patients and visitors. I do that too on occasion, but I tend to like the projects that don't require as much brain power!

One of the payoffs of working during these waiting periods is improved concentration. I can focus on the art and still pay attention to what's going on around me (listening for my dad's name, dealing with distractions and questions from other curious onlookers, etc.). I find that when I'm sketching around other people now, I'm not as bother by a break in my concentration or by questions.

It also seems like my hand and eye coordination have strengthened and I know my ability to see and create patterns has improved!

Whatever appeals to you is what will work best. Knitting, crocheting, drawing, sketching, any creative endeavor works. I find keeping it simple works best for me. If I don't get back to it for a while, I can still pick up where I left off. Don't overlook those small pockets of time—you'll come to appreciate them as small gifts when you start getting into the groove of working quick.

If you do something similar, please leave a comment below with a link to your project. I'd love to see other ways of spending my time in more productive ways!