Last Saturday, I joined the Caravan Writers Collective writing workshop facilitated by Paul Corman-Roberts. (ht Holly Starley and Marya Hornbacher) It was so much fun! One of the prompts was to write a letter from someone who embodies attributes we aspire to, on the topic: How you will get through these next few weeks.

I chose the abstract painter Joan Mitchell, known for her huge, colorful paintings that evoke landscapes, poetry, and music. In a retrospective exhibition at the Baltimore Museum of Art, they included photographs of her working on canvas so large, she’s up on a ladder. The sheer scale of her work, her ambition, and her talent has stayed with me.

This letter—its tone and message—took me by surprise. It feels like something others might benefit from, so I’m sharing it here.

Dear Julie,

What are you waiting for? Nobody’s going to bring you a ladder. If you paint on a canvas that big, get your own ladder. And if you’re going to paint, why choose anything smaller?

Defy the odds. Defy the naysayers, the inner critics, the outer critics, the fear. So what if they ignore you? What are you doing this for? For them? Really?

Follow your inner promptings. Heed the voices. Serve the muse.

Look at these colors. Aren’t they glorious?

Loosen up. Play. Experiment. Be with friends. Be honest. Don’t hide, oh, my God, why on earth would you hide?

Be loud and visible. Take up space. Stop being so careful. Let the colors run. Let the paint drip. The drips are the best part sometimes. (I almost said people love the drips, but who cares what people love? They’re so mercurial anyway, let them decide for themselves.) The only thing you can trust is your own inspiration. Your work ethic. Your vision.

But it’s summer! Go sailing! Get out there. Get drunk on the colors. On the feel of warm breezes on your skin, in your hair. Make love out there. To your lover, to yourself, to all of it.

The grass! I mean, look at it. Look at those greens! That hydrangea—the pinks and ivories. And don’t get me started on the reflections on the water. You know how freaking lucky you are to live on the water?!

Advice to get through the next few weeks? How about, you ingest them? Plow straight through them with a paintbrush, a pen, a pencil, your tongue, your limbs, your face, your fingers.

All of it. Run those weeks through you. On your terms.

Go wild. Go free. Go big. Anything but “getting through.” No more tiptoeing with care. Stomp and wade and make it yours.

Claim it. Be it.

Your pal,

Joan Mitchell

Some of the paintings we saw at the exhibition, and one for scale.