welcome to art for all the sketchbook skool podcast. I'm your host, Danny Gregory. And I'm the author of a dozen or so books on art and creativity. And I'm a sketch book artist. And today I'd like to tell you about a mysterious epiphany that I had and what it showed me about my, my body and my art. It was a real milestone in my life, and I hope helped give you a fresh perspective on yours too. It was the end of a yoga class and I lay on the floor in corpse pose. And suddenly this rich, deep voice in my head spoke to me out of the candle at darkness. It spoke slowly and distinctly, and it said your body is the dog of your mind. Huh? I thought about this cryptic phrase for the rest of the day. I even Googled it. Nothing. But then slowly I came to an answer. My dog Twiglets is a puppy. She's a teenager. And I take her to the vet regularly. I walk her every morning. I watch her when she's playing in the yard to make sure that she doesn't eat anything that could harm her. She likes to chew on sticks and rocks and the occasional beetle. I drive an extra mile or two to get the specific, healthy food that she likes. Even if it costs a little extra and in return, she'll crawl up my feet. She'll bark. When the doorbell rings, she'll Nessel against me. When, when I watch TV, she'll lick my hands and she'll gaze at me from across the room. She is my loyal pal and we look after each other as well as we can, but my body, that was another story. I ignored it as much as I could bowls of ice cream late at night. And I told myself that my walk from the subway to the office, qualified as an exercise, as regime, instead of attending to my body, I led a life of the mind working late, deep inside my skull, occasionally buying bigger pants. My body was a scary thing. No doubt hiding awful secrets that it would eventually unleash and kill me and wake up in the middle of the night with hypochondriacal worries, which I would grind on in the dark rather than going to the doctor. My body was to be denied, feared, beaten, back, and pushed down. But my body is the dog of my mind. The voice was telling me that just as I love my dog, who's loyal and loves me back. My body wanted nothing more than to serve me too. And for as long as possible. If only I would let it instead, I treated my body like a cur neglected and malnourished chained to a tree in the yard. I had to start looking after the dog of my mind, at least as well as I looked after the pug curled up at my feet. So I began to watch what I eat and to exercise regularly, I lost 30 pounds. Um, I went for a physical. And the doctor discovered early prostate cancer and I had surgery and it seems like he caught it in time. So I feel stronger and leaner and better than I have in ages. The dog of my mind wags his tail and bounds around in glee, but I still had a problem go. I discovered the idea of the artist's date in Julia Cameron's classic book, the artist's way. She encouraged us to plan a time each week to focus on our inner child, go to an art supply store, a museum, a walk in a rose garden, smell the crayons gaze at the money. Read some Keats, listen to an entire symphony with your eyes closed in your earbuds in nourish your soul, and it will feed you back. I often find myself lost at my computer, realizing that my knees are cramped. My SPAC is stiff. My butt is asleep. My eyes are fogged. My mind is happy to keep grinding away at the project, but its dog needs to stretch and walk around. And now I'm careful to pay attention to, to heat its needs, but what of my artist's soul, that scrawny child in my head, he needs exercise too. He needs to be fed and loved to be shown, picture books and paintings and lovely vistas. He needs to be smiled at. He needs gentle love and support. He needs to have his drawing encouraged. His ideas nurtured. My mind can be a bully though. I know that's not his instinct, but the other bits of mean need to be cared for to a life out of balance is not worth living. So I remind myself, walk your dog, feed your child, cherish your life. Complete. Thanks for joining me today. I'll create something new for you again next week until then I'm Danny Gregory. And this is art for a whole.