I had the incredible opportunity recently to create a large-scale chalk art piece for the grand opening of our town’s new cemetery. I had not created a piece quite so large before and had a heckuva time “scaling it up” in my head. Even though my friend gave me the dimensions of 4′ x 6′, I somehow pictured a chalkboard about the size of my largest one at home – 2′ x 3′. Half the size. Half.
It wasn’t until later when my husband gently took me by the shoulders and said, “Babe, do you realize just how big that is?? That’s a full sheet of plywood,” that I let it fully sink in. But I’m happy to say that I didn’t panic or have an anxiety attack or go into a Baskin Robbins ice cream coma.
Until the next day.
After Garret talked me down from the precipice I realized… it’s just bigger. I’ve done all of this before. I’ve recreated logos. I’ve created pieces onsite. I know what tools I need. I know the process.
It’s just bigger.
I got this.
And I just methodically went through the process one piece at a time.
Somewhere about the fifth hour of this six-hour project, Garret had gone to get us some lunch and the cemetery had quieted down from a morning flurry of visitors and inspections. I sat quietly, alone, working on the leaves of the beautiful tree artwork they use for their logo, and my heart went still and my head stopped swirling. I stopped, looked across the green lawn and listened to the nearby water feature trickling quietly.
And my heart knew.
I was exactly where I was supposed to be doing exactly what I was meant to do. I was completely at peace. I felt confident and grateful and humble and emotional. I stopped and took a quick selfie of myself at peace. That’s the feeling I want to remember next time someone asks, “Do you do artwork?”