Why Mine Was the One They Took Pictures Of (And Why That Felt Strange)

 I'm normally not a painter, but I wanted to do an abstract art class held in the park this evening.

Phart!  I mean--art!

Dad always used to say spell it with a "ph" so that way you "aren't cursing."

In some ways I felt a bit like I was stepping back into childhood with the plastic table clothes, the shared paint, and the quiet concentration as you painted.  There was that unspoken agreement of "We're all here to make something."

The instructions were fairly simple: pick three colors, grab two stencils, and make your abstract leaf.  There were about nine people total.  A good chunk of them chose to follow the example of muted pallets of black, gray-green, and muted gold.

Now there's nothing wrong with that.  There IS comfort in following a guide.  You can even make the argument there's safety in knowing what something is "supposed" to look like.

But then, I'm different.  I went with black, white, and orange.  I wanted to create something autumn themed and I did so with the limited colors we had.  At first my leaves were pretty normal looking and then it took on a form that was less craft like...and more like a story that had weaved it's way into paint.  Fun fact about me:  I majored in art and minored in English in college.

And then something unexpected happened:  people wanted to take pictures of mine.  Not of everyone else's but just mine.

And frankly, that felt strange and uneasy.  It wasn't a triumphant "look at me!" sort of thing.  It was that quiet way where you feel the room shifting around you and you're not entirely sure about how you feel about it.

Standing out doesn't always feel good.  Sometimes it feels isolating and it makes you look around and think "Why not them too?"

Their pieces, their effort, and their choices all mattered.

But difference often draws the eye.  Being bold and different interrupts any expectations.  And whether we mean it or not, we notice the things that break the patterns.

It wasn't better or more worthy.  It was simply different.

And maybe that's the lesson.  We don't need to be louder or be seen, but follow our instincts.  When we lean into the part of us that chooses contrast over comfort people notice.  You don't have to out perform the room or outshine anyone.  All you have to do is be willing to make something that feels like you even if it looks nothing like the example on the table.