Taking the Leap

Via Pinterest | Source Unknown

In the summer of my eighth year I learned to do a “run-and-jump dive.” Previously it was all shuffling to the end, pausing, pointing, and slowly slipping into the water. This dive was a dive that would legitimize my use of the diving board during pool-time. But learning this dive wasn’t one glorious moment of reckless abandon, although, I presume in the moment it was that. Rather, it was many hot afternoons at my grandma’s pool, persistently running off the board, knees buckling at the jump I couldn’t make. It was the last day of summer (or there about) and I was determined—dive or don’t turn up for fourth grade. There was some invisible barrier that I’d always crash in to, just as my toes curved around the edge of the board. It was as if my brain was telling my legs, “Really, you can’t do that. Nope, don’t even go for it.” And then my legs replied, “Yeah, what am I thinking? I’m Colleen Dennison’s legs!” Then of course my legs buckled and my body crumpled into the mass that inevitably meant a belly-flop. I can’t recall now what snapped in my mind the moment I made the first leap. Was I thinking about failure? Was I thinking about the churning “Deep End” that lurked below? I rather suspect I wasn’t thinking about anything at all. It was reckless abandon that took over, knees bent, and toes out behind, my scrawny seven-year-old body soaring through the air. And soaring through that air was like “slipping the surly bonds of earth.”

Doing something new is always a risk. It means likely failure, and at the cost of public humiliation. My creative life has been much like learning to dive. I’ve experienced the “crouching at the edge of the pool” stage. I’ve felt the triumph of slipping slowly into the water, not knowing it was an easy feat. I’ve also made a few attempts off the diving board and spent some time nursing my sore stomach in the shallows. But let’s leave the metaphor behind.

I’ve always been a creator. I’ve sketched on the back of Wednesday night Bible reading outlines; as a silent high-school teen I’ve found a platform in art. I’ve traipsed down my own roads in art school and ended up in the wide uncharted territory of post graduation. Whether it’s through ink, paint, photography, design, or writing, I’ve created. This last year I’ve been many things: product photographer, graphic designer, journalist to an oil-stained industry, insatiable reader of obscure 1940s novels. This year found me eyeing up being an “artist” like I did the illusive jump at the edge of the diving board. Should I throw myself into it? One of many things I’ve learned over these last few months is something I’ve been needing to know to be able to throw myself into the jump: 

I want to be serious about my art.

So welcome, intrepid reader, to a digital chronicle of a faulty artist. Welcome to a space somewhere betwixt solid ground and the air, and whatever lies beyond. Here I’ll share my current projects, who I’m inspired by and what I’m dabbling in. It will likely be a mash of illustration, writing, and design. I can’t promise you “sun-bursts or marble halls,” but I’ll share with you the rekindling of my creative life, and my dedication to acquiring good craft through hard work.

My toes are rubbing up against the sandpaper-top of the diving board, my calves gather energy for a run, I eye the edge of what looks like a forever of air. I’m running now. Four strides towards the edge of the board. My knees bend, the board dips, and then suddenly I’m weightless, soaring headfirst over inverted sky.