The Year of the Octopus?
The Year of the Octopus?
Each new year, I enjoy picking out a project, setting an intention, or learning something new. Somehow, in 2022, I landed on the idea that I would try my hand at painting. I told Dane it would be a relaxing endeavor for me. The pandemic was in full swing, and I was searching for something to balance our outdoor time with the pups, my lavender Epsom salt bath obsession, and studying for an online course.
I decided I’d complete a Canvas by Numbers. I’d been seeing them advertised, noticing pictures of friends who had completed them, and they seemed a sure bet. Anyone could paint with the help of numbers! I imagined myself sitting in a meditative trance, inhaling while dipping my brush in the paint, followed by a long soft exhale with a well-placed stroke.
Scouring the Canvas by Numbers website, I looked for an easy painting that I would find joy in completing. I looked at coastal scenes and quiet cottages, rowboats, Venetian canals, and lilies and tulips, but I wasn’t finding anything that appealed to me.
Until I stumbled upon an octopus!
I placed my order, and as I eagerly awaited its delivery, I considered where I’d hang my masterpiece. Dane happened to be over when the package arrived. I tore open the box—and screeched when I saw the canvas.
As Dane smiled knowingly, I yelped, “This isn’t relaxing,” as I stared down at a thousand itty-bitty spaces with faint minuscule numbers my naked eye couldn’t read.
I’d never have the patience. What was I thinking?
Hence the octopus box, as I would come to refer to it, stayed under my bed until a recent major house cleaning. I tried gifting it to friends, with no luck. The complexity of the painting is staggering.
Earlier during the pandemic, I’d watched in fascination as friends knitted their first scarves, made collages from old magazines, and designed intricate fairy gardens with working waterfalls. Everyone seemed to be reaching a new level of creativity, and I wondered what practice I could take up.
Then I remembered learning how to make Ojos de Dios, “God’s Eyes,” in Girl Scouts. It’s an easy project of simply crossing two sticks and methodically wrapping yarn under and over them to form a colorful diamond pattern. It’s a mindful, calming practice for anxious times.
So I collected sticks from the yard for Dane and me and took out an old box of yarn balls collected over the years. I can still picture Dane sitting on the edge of the bed with an angelic smile, holding his crossed sticks and focusing. We were both pleased with the results but never quite knew what to do with the finished products!
The Canvas by Numbers was supposed to be a step up in creativity. But now, three years later, it’s only a box taking up space and collecting dust.
My focus for 2024 didn’t include a creative practice. It involved studying for exams I needed to take for my chosen career, but I also had a fun intention of not purchasing a single bottle of shampoo for 12 months—something I’d bought way too much of in response to sales. At year-end, I’ve passed the exams, and I still have more than half a bottle of shampoo left. Call me simple, but that little success thrills me.
Soon, the calendar will read 2025, and in my latest big cleaning project, besides the octopus box, I also discovered a box of unopened toothbrushes and over five new tubes of toothpaste. (My thrifty personality took over whenever I noticed a sale.) So now I’m committed to not buying more toothpaste in the new year and changing out my toothbrush on the first of every month. But that seems too easy—there needs to be more.
Looking back, the God's Eyes were precisely the balancing act Dane and I needed at the time: a soothing and quiet time of reflection while crafting. Will 2025 finally be the year of the octopus? Will it be the year I work on my patience?