I used to try on personal styles like hats in a vintage shop – I’d go from sophisticated to rebellious to hippy in a matter of weeks all under the guise of being “eclectic.” While these styles were fun and fabulous, none of them where my mine. It wasn’t until I stopped looking for definition that my style became evident. You might say it found me. One day I looked around my home- in my closet, on my bookshelf and through my scrapbook pages and realized that my style was everywhere…even on my TIVO!
At first I was a little disappointed because I had secretly hoped that “it” would be a style of pure genius. Something to put me on the map… when people of stature and clout described innovation and creativity they would say…”wow – it’s so…Jilliene.” But low and behold it was neither newsworthy nor likely to get me into the VIP suite at some who ’s who after-party.
Once the initial disenchantment passed I began to see the colors of my style. The lines, the patterns, the flavors, the attitudes – this was my truth and I liked it. It was cheerful, and fun, adventurous and undisciplined. It was clean and organized with a bit of chaos for good measure. There were hints of my mother and shadows of my favorite artists scattered about and the totality of it all was beautiful. I could see this beauty in my children’s faces and in my grocery cart and in the laundry basket. I was leaving my own distinct mark and I wasn’t doing it wrong!
With this awareness my creativity soared. I trusted my instincts like never before and became willing to let things happen. I knew I could count of my style to work out the details. My artwork became an act of joy rather than a quest for understanding. I was no longer searching – now I was exploring.
