sky circles

when i was in grade three i was asked to write a test to see if i was smart enough to be part of the “gifted” program in school district number nine. the kids asked to participate were selected based on their scores from the standardized exams that used to be given at the end of every year. the problem with this is that many forms of genius don’t necessarily excel in written exams. (newsflash of the century.) fortunately, i was one of those creepy children who did phonics workbooks for fun, and was a prime candidate for said program. my dad was beside himself with glee that i’d been asked. (what parent doesn’t like a little reassurance that their genes are holding their own?)

i wrote the test with two other girls from my school. i brought four freshly sharpened pencils and my own snoopy sharpener in case i got over-excited and pressed too hard. i breezed through the multiple choice and short answer questions. (the test was phonics on crack. awesome.) i was feeling a little cocky when i hit the last few pages, all of which were covered in silver-dollar sized circles. the instructions stated clearly that i was to draw anything and everything i could think of using these circles. i panicked.

see, my eight year old self felt very comfortable with rules. i was a perfectionist and needed to know exactly what was expected of me at all times so that i could execute each task precisely and correctly. the circles held too many variables. imagination is skewed. that’s what makes it so incredible. imagination sits on the precipice of art. it dips its toes into our truths, thrilling us with its audacity, and produces ripples of doubt. the realization that our collective knowledge is fragile and can be manipulated and challenged is both terrifying and exhilarating. within imagination there are no compartmentalized “rights” and “wrongs,” and that is extremely intimidating to an eight year old who lives for checkmarks on a page. i drew a blank and sat motionless for over twenty minutes. as i gazed frantically at the clock i was struck by a lightening bolt: CLOCK!! circle number one became a clock-face. one down, ninety-seven to go.

the next four circles became faces. “they’re all different people.” i reasoned. seconds before “time” was called i managed to turn circles number six and seven into a pair of eyeglasses. i carried my paper to the front of the room emanating the stench of failure. until this day i’ve told no one about the nefarious circles and their undoing of my precocious early years.

i didn’t get into the program. only one part of the exam had been difficult for me, but i was paralyzed with shame and told no one about my gross short-coming. my dad muttered under his breath that the whole thing was a “racket” and not something we’d want to be involved in anyway. (god bless fathers and their blind love.) i began to question my creativity. to this day i see circles everywhere. they haunt me. i love circular logic, circles of friends, birds and their weightless sky-circles, circles of life and circular saws. i enjoy crop circles and virtually round scoops of ice-cream placed delicately into slightly asymmetrical bowls. I rarely see polka-dots without squealing in delight, and have a soft spot in my heart for any circle that’s drooped under pressure.

in ralph waldo emerson's essay "circles" he begins:

"the eye is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second; and throughout nature this primary picture is repeated without end. it is the highest emblem in the cipher of the world."

i take from this that circles are indeed a worthy adversary. they encapsulate everything. most importantly, they've come to equal imagination for me. within imagination i find freedom, breath, and beauty. (ergo i love circles.) but i'm also wary. often in my store someone will comment on the creativity in which something has been displayed. my heart beats faster. i want to confess that i'm unable to do anything with circles on a page; that when push comes to shove i can't prove a creative mind on a piece of paper. i want to explain that i've had to let go of perfection in circles and because of this i can create them everywhere. (an example that success is born of failure i think. there is great potential in mistakes if we look at them obectively.) i can create. that right there is a definition of myself that i am painfully proud of. in your face school district number nine.