I just.. I take a pen, I draw, usually to calm down, to keep away panic attacks. Meditation doesn’t work for me, yoga neither. Drawing does.
Then I add colors as if they were feelings. Can’t explain this clearly. But I feel I have to put this color there, it means something (I’m synaesthesic/and bipolar and weird). Sometimes it even hurts till I put the right drop of colored ink to the « right » place.
It could, sometimes, be endless. But my father told me once that I needed to know when to stop (better can be « it’s good »’s ennemy/« le mieux est l’ennemi du bien », in French 🇫🇷).
I “learned” how to draw watching my father drawing on the kitchen table, everywhere, on a corner of some paper, he was just drawing, all the time. And I was watching him drawing.
That’s it. Somehow!..