Earlier this week I was in Barnes & Noble and I walked by a shelf that had a big white box on it. The box cover was white and it said Buddha Board across the cover. I stopped to examine this cool thing. On the back of the box it described what it was. It was a white board, that you paint on with water and your brush stokes come out black. The picture disappears as it dries, and your Buddha Board is ready to go for the next painting. Hmmm…also on the the box it said “Practice the art of letting go”. I placed the box back on the shelf and headed home.
I pondered that statement as I drove home from the mall. As far as I’m concerned, “letting go” can’t be practiced enough, and I don’t think it’s ever mastered. The more I thought about the painting and the drying, the more I began to see the wisdom of this magical board. It’s “morning pages” for art. My morning pages are written within the safety of knowing they will never be viewed again, by me or anyone else. This results in free, effortless writing, done without fear or constraint. The Buddha Board could do for my art what morning pages does for my writing. This realization made me very excited because I’ve felt crippled in my art for a very long time. I won’t pick up the sketch pad or the paintbrush for fear of it not being good. I never thought of applying the concept of “morning pages” to drawing and painting. Needless to say, I decided I needed a Buddha Board.
Today I went on my big adventure to get my magical board. Tuesday there were two of them on the shelf. When I walked in today there was only one left and a girl was holding it, reading the box. I cannot believe that suddenly everyone on Cape Cod is interested in Buddha Boards. I stalked her until she put it back on the shelf. I quickly walked over and grabbed it and booked to the checkout before she could change her mind.
Upon bringing my board home, I knew just where it was going to go in my serenity room. I opened the box and unpacked it. I found the instructions and read them carefully (an amazing feat all it’s own for me, but I really didn’t want to screw this up). I put it together, took it into the room and set it up on its very own table by the window. I got a glass of water, pulled over the stool, dipped the brush into the water and began swooshing it over the board. The anticipation of seeing my brushstrokes magically appear was palpitating. Nothing happened. The board stayed white. It also kept flopping over backwards. I kept painting. It stayed white and kept flopping over backward. Now I was upset. I just went all the way to the mall and paid for this and it doesn’t even work.
I stomped back into the kitchen to get the instructions. I was hell-bent on finding a phone number and giving someone a piece of my mind and asking for my money back. (So much for serenity, zen and letting go). There on the counter, next to the box, lay a hard, black board, white on one side. I had been painting on the packing material. I began laughing and laughing as I took the board into the other room and placed it in the rack, where it fit snug and secure.
I sat down once again and with a drum roll in my head, picked up the brush, dipped it in water and began painting. Voila! Magic. Just as the box promised, my brushstrokes appeared, beautifully black. My first Buddha Board painting. It was everything I thought it’d be – fun, free, easy, and relaxing. I snapped the photo below and went to make dinner.
I kept going back to check and see if it dried. In ten minutes it was gone.
What a fun thing. I felt like I was a kindergartner again. I so wish I had this in my classroom for the kids when I was teaching. What fun they would’ve had – with no cleanup from me.
There are times we must be truly childlike. For some, this is a hard concept. It was for me – one who spent years hanging with five year olds. The freedom to think and act like a child was released within the realm of knowing no one was ever going to see my work. In this context I could pick up the brush, just like almost two years ago morning pages allowed me to pick up the pen.
If there’s something you’re afraid to try, but have a passion for, try it inside the realm of knowing that no one will ever see it. You just might surprise yourself. It’s the ultimate “letting go”.
And so, as another day goes by, joie de vevre, joie de vevre, joie de vevre and…I have written…..
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