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The Monday Morning Memo

Hi Indy,

Going to the classes at Wizard Academy gave me the courage to push the button today on my latest “Studio Notes.” Sharing my most embarrassing moment with 300-plus people was not easy but you and Roy teach about how much our self-talk matters. I needed to change my self-talk. Turning this embarrassing memory that haunted me into my personal badge of courage has been therapeutic. I hope it encourages someone else.

Your Friend,
Raven

Most Embarrassing Memory
by: Jan Raven Stitt,
Alaskan Raven Studio’s resident artist

I could never catch up with my three skyscraper brothers. They started flying off to college when I was graduating from kindergarten.

 

A roar of empty quiet subdued our house. My parents filled the void with music. Contagious rhythms and melodies filled the rooms of our two story brick home. Beethoven, Dvorak and Scott Joplin became frequent guests. I could even hear their strokes of sound from the upper branches of our five-story sycamore tree.

Mom challenged me to learn to play the piano. I grappled with those ivory keys and strove to reach the black ones that always felt a little out of reach. But I practiced. Often.

The day came for my first recital. I heard them call my name summoning me to face the ivory-and-black-striped animal. I felt very small in front of all the staring faces, swallowed hard and began my happy song.

Happy until I hit the wrong key. My world crashed inside me. I tried to start over but panic was steering my ship. My face was a brighter shade of red than a stop sign. I stood up and stumbled back to my seat in the audience wishing I could vanish under the rug. I overheard my teacher grumble “That was the worst case of stage fright I’ve ever seen.”

I tried to bury that memory in a deep let’s-not-talk-about-it-cloud-of-forget. But now, many years later, I realize it taught me I can survive failures. Other challenges seem less terrifying. That grand foul-up fiasco actually gave me courage. It also led me to discover painting is my passion. No more taunting from ivory keys. My language is color. My easel is a friend. The pigments on my palette are always within reach.

I’m grateful for the piano-purge. It makes me fearless in front of a blank canvas. A love of music remains inside me. I beat a rhythm with brushstrokes. Surprises of color and undertones of shadows play my song. Wild jazzy orange brushstrokes begin musical arrangements on canvas.

Surprisingly, my most embarrassing memory has made me stronger.  

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Random Quote:

“Voyager, in case it’s ever encountered by extraterrestrials, is carrying photos of life on earth, greetings in 55 languages and a collection of music from Gregorian chant to Chuck Berry, including ‘Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground’ by 20’s bluesman Blind Willie Johnson, whose stepmother blinded him at 7 by throwing lye in his eyes after his father beat her for being with another man. He died penniless of pneumonia after sleeping bundled in wet newspapers in the ruins of his house that burned down, but his music just left the solar system.”

- Jed Bartlett, The West Wing, season 5, episode 13, "The Warfare of Genghis Khan," first aired Feb 11, 2004.

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