Nothing.

Nothingness. It’s hard to grasp that concept. What exactly is nothingness? If you’re thinking of nothing, aren’t you thinking of something (nothing)? Whatever.


Professor Richards has assigned us to go home and do nothing for 15 minutes, then write about it. In my attempt to do so and experience this idea of nothingness, I began to realize just how much I was in need of a chance to stop, breathe and reflect on my week. And a hell of a week it had been.
After looking back on it all, I realized that I had just wasted 5 of my 15 minutes recollecting my thoughts. I reminded myself that the task was to think of nothing, not of everything, and so I started my 15 minutes all over again.

I continued to lie on my comfy queen-sized bed with my dog Max and his slobbery chew toy, intending to take only 15 minutes trying really, really hard to commit to this activity. You’d think that an assignment that requires a student to do nothing would probably be the easiest in his or her college career. Wrong. Definitely wrong. I took a deep breath.
Which reminded me of my first year of college, when I took a psychology class with a nutty professor that surely had a great time in the 60s, if you know what I mean. Every morning, he’d bring out his meditation bells from his backpack and as soon as he’d ring them, we were to close our eyes for five minutes and focus on breathing. I never really got it at first. I’d just close my eyes and occasionally peek to see if everyone else was doing it. One time I accidentally wandered off into a dream and woke up when my classmate moved his chair. Embarrassing. By the end of the semester, I had it down-packed. I began practicing the art of mediation at home, usually before going to sleep. Still do it today.

Anyway, I rested motionlessy, staring at my old-school popcorn ceiling that needed a good dusting ASAP. But what occurred in my mind was far from “nothing” and I felt uneasy doing, well, nothing about it.

The easel to the right of my bed was just sitting there, staring at me, perhaps even screaming at me. I hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in weeks. I had forgotten what the scent of acrylic paint smelled like. And as I stared back, I mentally told myself that I’d not only write the thoughts my mind produced during this assignment, but I’d paint them as well.

I stood, searched my cabinets for paint and brushes, and began mixing colors to make new ones that reflected my mood. I set my iPod to play songs from my "as a kite" playlist (it's the one I put on when I feel artsy.) This was my therapy.

I felt mentally exhausted and overwhelmed. On top of everything, I had kept all my emotions hidden, like I often do as a result of my uncontrollable stubbornness and pride. This was why I had picked up the hobby of painting in the first place. I needed a way to express my feelings without saying them to the world. Today was one of those days. Really, all I wanted to do was let it all out – my frustrations, my anger, my worries, my sadness, and my hope for a better week that starts tomorrow.

I had no plan of what to paint, and most times I don’t. I just play with colors and once I make my first stroke on canvas, I just continue until something comes about. And I never sketch, either, ’cause like it say’s on my wall, ”Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius” – Marilyn Monroe.

My “15 minutes of nothingness” became 45 minutes of pondering, analyzing, and putting it all onto a canvas. And this was what it all came to: