Creating Like A Stick Monkey

It’s seventy-nine and sunny in New Orleans, y’all. I’m getting a little tipsy on this glorious golden vitamin D. I love you Pacific Northwest. But not your drizzle. Never the winter grey drizzle.

But what I’m really drinking in is this city’s celebration of creativity.

Music and murals everywhere. Bands playing on the streets. Festival after festival celebrating the written word, amazing food on every block. And everyone—everyone—is invited to join. Beginner to expert, all are welcome. No judgment. No gatekeeping. Just come make something.

This town is a daily living reminder of what life can be if you stop judging and let yourself find the joy in whatever it is you do. 

But this can also be dangerous if you're me. Last week at the Ogden Museum of Southern Art, a piece by Edd Lambdin made me laugh so hard with its absolute whimsey, I almost got escorted out. It was called, Monkey Riding a Dragon.

Not so long ago, Edd's art, considered Folkart, would never have been included in a museum by those holding the measuring stick. And Edd's not alone in that history. Folk art, quilting, basket-making — whole traditions of makers told for generations that their joy didn't qualify. The worst part isn't the gatekeepers, though. It's when that voice moves in and starts paying rent in your own head 

If Edd had stopped to measure whether that monkey on a dragon was “good enough,” he never would have made it. And I never would have stood in that museum, laughing like a chipmunk with a key to the Planters' peanuts factory. And that would have been a real tragedy.

And yet, for a long time, I let those same critical voices keep me from trying new things, from sharing my stories, from stepping out from behind the curtain.

But I'm done with that nonsense. Instead I'm throwing my creativity a party, and using that measuring stick to stir myself a new cocktail called “Heck Yeah, I’m Doing It.”

And I'm gonna make it a double.