Why are adults crazy for coloring books?
Some months ago, the New York Times ran a feature on the latest craze among busy people — the coloring book for adults. I was curious. Many years ago, a naught y friend gave one that featured hilarious drawings of naked bodies that one had to draw organs on. Could those risqué volumes be back on the shelves?
After I made sure today’s adult coloring books were not X- rated, I dropped broad hints to my daughters that I wanted one for Mother’s Day. Two books came belatedly because a few months back, they had to be bought abroad. Today, these artistic coloring books that are definitely not for young children are available in local bookstores.
One is called “Mystic Mandala,” and the other, a book of inspirations with positive messages amid elaborate drawings of birds and flowers. A travelling friend bought them at a book store in Singapore. The friend ended up buying a few more for his wife who quickly got into the craze, to the point of hosting coloring parties.
Our initial reaction to the books was, these drawings are too pretty. Let’s preserve the coloring books and make photocopies to color — which, of course, defeats the purpose of a coloring book.
I’ve received two more since then, a handy pocket- sized “Mindfulness” and the gorgeous “Enchanted Forest” coloring books. I brought the small one on a 13- hour flight to Los Angeles last May, with my colored pencils in hand, fully intending to while away the long trans- Pacific flight by color- ing the entire book. But it was not a good idea to bring out 22 long pencils in a crowded aircraft with little elbow room for doing art work. And once in LA, there was so much going on, I never even thought of coloring a single page. In LA, my nieces surprised me with Johanna Basford’s
Enchanted Forest coloring book, a lushly illustrated volume that features unicorns, gargoyles, dragonflies and all kinds of flora and fauna along with castles and cottages, and a fold- out of two intricately rendered fire- breathing dragons! I am totally intimidated by this coloring book which is obviously a collector’s item. It is much too beautiful to work on. I know I will violate its artistry with my sloppy coloring.
When I got my first two coloring books, I bought a set of colored pencils, a pencil sharpener and eraser and started coloring my first mandala. It was dizzying coloring ring after complicated ring and the result was disappointing. It was definitely amateurish in choice of colors and in pencil strokes. Although my second mandala was better, I was more tuned in to color combinations, I began to think that maybe I’m not cut out for this kind of quiet, patient work.
My fingers ached from holding the thin pencils, my wrist felt disengaged after doing small strokes, my back ached and my eyes were playing tricks on me. And I was distressed by the stray strokes I made outside the lines. Coloring was stressful!
Many weeks passed when I didn’t look at my coloring books. There was no time in my schedule or space in my head for it. Besides which I was totally intimidated.
Last month, I finally opened the coloring book of inspirations. I slowly and patiently filled in the baroque birds and flowers designed with dots and curlicues. I colored one playfully and instinctively, with all the hues of the rainbow and others with monochromatic shades. I stopped thinking of what I was doing and let my mind wander as I filled in the white spaces.
On that quiet weekend morning, I finally caught on to the idea of the adult coloring book and its reason for being: Coloring is not work, at least it shouldn’t be. It is therapy.
The colors one uses do not matter. Monochromatic, psychedelic or rainbow, is up to you. There is no right or wrong color combination, no bad or good strokes. There is no competition either. The idea is to go with the flow. Set aside the routine, mundane tasks that crowd your day and spend “me time” just doing stress- free art therapy.
I will probably not attempt to color the Enchanted Forest. I am awed and inspired enough just looking at its magical illustrations. Parhaps later when I am retired with days to spare and hopefully with fine motor skills still intact to fill in drawings of tiny fern, thorny vines and deer antlers, I may attempt to work on it. For now, I am happy looking forward to quiet “me time” on long weekends, away from the mind work involved in long strategy meetings, editing difficult manuscripts, or balancing the household budget, deaf to the persistence of texts and the lure of Facebook, and quietly, mindfully coloring mandalas, baroque birds and flowers and inspiring quotes in my coloring books.
Try it. It’s therapeutic.