Inspiration

For my eighth birthday, my Uncle Bob gave me a 110 camera. Like most kids that age, I shot a photo of each family member, the dog, the cat…typical stuff important to an 8 year old. I remember I wanted to shoot a photo of my sister climbing our favorite hill, but before I shot the photo I thought to myself, “If I shoot close-up and below her, it may look as though she is climbing a huge mountain.” Pretty ingenious thought for someone of my young, fragile, naive age!

Over the years I cultivated that creative spirit. I took art classes throughout high school and even went to college to become an architect. Of course, as soon as I realized I wasn’t going to be drawing floor plans and beautiful structures all day (more like airplane parts and pulley systems) I diverted my education to study psychology, then later graduated with a degree in public relations. What a diversion!

Life happened, too. Cooking dinner, helping kids with homework, and cleaning house just seemed to be more of a priority than painting landscapes. So eventually all traces of acrylics, watercolors, and canvases disappeared from my life.

I made a career in graphic design and photography to continue my love for art and it worked. They say if you do what you love, it is never “work.”

But occasionally I began to miss the key element behind true art and design…and that is “inspiration.” I missed creating an art piece driven by the sheer primal and raw need to create something. I missed expressing myself in color, shape, texture, and lines. I missed creating something that was only for the world to view the mysteries locked inside my head, not for the girl who needed to earn a paycheck.

On February 1 I returned to a place I called home for over seven years, Shreveport, Louisiana. I returned to the company I loved and worked with for more than three years, Insty-Prints. I returned to the friendships of some of the greatest and most creative minds I have ever known.

On a snowy Thursday night, five of us creative, spunky women found ourselves sitting on a bench at the ribbon-cutting of the Norsworthy Art Gallery, gazing into the paintings and wondering what happened to the girls of long ago who had paint on our hands and face and dripping from our hair.

That night, a seed of inspiration was planted and it spread amongst us like wildfire on a hot, dry Midwestern grain field. We knew we had to create, and thus was born a plan to awaken each of our inner-artists.

We came up with an inspiration quote and set out to create whatever the quote inspired in us for an art project due the first day of spring. The quote: “He attacked everything in life with a mix of extraordinary genius and naive incompetence, and it was often difficult to tell which was which” by Douglas Adams.

Hidden in plastic and paper bags and under jackets, four ladies brought in pieces. With anticipation, each woman revealed her piece. Grace was first with her Joker painting. She explained the mixture of control and chaos—and dual personality the quote inspired for her whimsical, well-detailed painting. Rachel unveiled a gorgeous piece of ceramics she sculpted with raised lines symbolizing her interpretation of that uniformity versus chaos undertone in the quote. I found inspiration in what goes through the minds of individuals when they meet and spark a light for the path in my painting. Raydra found inspiration in the genius, crazy mind of Albert Einstein with a fantastic shadowbox, well crafted and proudly presented.

Indeed the first presentation was a dynamic success.

The first day of summer will revolve around the word “Dr. Seuss.” I cannot wait to see the variety of creativity amongst everyone. I see this growing into something huge as more individuals are inspired to join. We’ve even gotten permission to turn the main hall in our mid-offices into our gallery for everyone to see the talent of those who wish to participate. Next time you are downtown, stop by and see the beginnings of raw creativity at its finest.

~Crickett

Big Air & Argyle Pants

Every two years, for two weeks the whole world dons the flags of their countries and supports athletes, some famous and some whose names have never been spoken before outside of their sport, in their quest to achieve a dream. This dream might be as small as being called an Olympian or as big as winning a gold medal.
In my house the Olympics are a big deal. Daytime competitions are recorded to be watched later, daily medal counts are tallied, and singing the National Anthem is just part of the Olympic hysteria. The best part about the Winter Olympics is watching sports we southerners never have the opportunity to watch. My favorite two are snowboarding (both snowboard cross and the half-pipe) and curling.

In Olympics past, curling was this weird sport that used brooms and big round stones on ice. This year it became the fad sport everyone talked about—besides Shaun White revealing his new trick on the half-pipe and the big US-Canada showdown in hockey. It seemed everyone I talked to watched curling and Shaun White snowboarding. The Norwegian men helped all the hype by wearing some very loud pants that drew a lot of attention.

Curling is similar to Bocci Ball (or Boule, if you're French). The object of the sport is simple—have the closest stone to the very center of the target after all the stones have been played. The strategy is what makes the game. The more I watched, the more into I got. It is exciting seeing a triple take out (moving three of the opponents stones out of play using just one of your stones) and hearing the skip (team leader) yell to the sweepers as they create a path in the ice for the stone to travel. During the final match between Norway and Canada, the crowd, feeling the excitement of the game, spontaneously erupted into "O Canada!" during the final end (round of play). I loved it! I enjoy the fervent way people celebrate their athletes during the Olympics.

The Olympics are about bringing the world together through sport and competition. We, as a nation, cheer on our athletes as they compete for us. In a few more weeks, the glory of the games will pass from people's thoughts until, four years from now, when the winter games return to action in Sochie, Russia. And we look to London for the summer games in just two years.

~Rachel