I begin as pots of colour, made new each year over hot July days. My soul is an artist’s vision. Hundreds of panels patterned together. The sky holds the best view of all — watching people in time-lapse, tiny ants criss-crossing the circle, brushes sweeping across bare ground. I am born again, reassembled in colour. Individual efforts create a collective rhythm, powerful in concert.
A woman has planned her panel for weeks, eager as she shares her vision with friends. Another allows the moment to decide, finding inspiration from the colours most readily available. A child paints a panel for the first time. Two lucky tourists stumble into what will create a lifelong connection. A family returns for what has become a sacred and deliberate annual ritual. On and on they turn, over the days and years. Panels that laugh. That grieve. That hold secrets or burst with joy. That are beautiful for no reason but their being.
A storm of heat and energy and creation — and once again, the community has made me what I will be. For now. Summer burns into fall. Shadows stretch long across me as barefoot children race. Parents turn I Spy into a game that draws mornings out, coffee in hand. Artists proudly sneak glances at their work. I watch an older couple delight as they choose their favorites—a detail they discovered, one that was never truly hidden, of course, but has now become revealed for them. For some, I am the main attraction. For others, I’m a background decoration. Whatever it is, I don’t mind. I bear footsteps and bear witness to life being lived.
Rain falls and winter comes. My vibrancy fades, both an optical illusion of the darkened skies and a genuine weathering. Fading was always my fate—it’s just in my nature. The moment I’m painted, I begin to fade—though you may not see it right away. I was never meant to last forever. I too have a birth and a death. Though change is my nature, no weather can fade my essence. When my colour is gone, you still see me, don’t you? Imagine if I never faded. You’d want to protect me. You’d tell people, “Don’t tread here.” There’d be no dancing on me, no children free to run. I’d become another protected masterpiece, clung to by people determined to defy the inevitable. No, my nature is to fade — and through erosion, new life springs forth. Like meditation, the act of repainting reminds us that community is a practice. The pots will return. The ants will dance again.
I’ll leave the mandala’s voice here. If you’ve ever walked across it, added your own colour, or simply felt something while standing at its center, you know it’s more than just paint.
This year’s Mandala Fundraiser is now under way, helping cover the cost of paint and supplies so the tradition can continue. Contributions of any size are welcome, and you can donate online at: gofundme.com/f/mandala-2025
Upcoming events in the Creek:
3rd Annual Heart of the Creek: Welcome to Summer: Friday, June 20, 6 to 8 p.m. Celebrate the season with neighbours, music, and that unmistakable Creek vibe.
Spend a Saturday Morning in the Garden: Saturday, June 14, 10 a.m. to noon. Join horticulturist, chef, and graphic artist Lorenzo Cryer of Quality Farms at 1088 Roberts Creek Road for a hands-on morning of inspiration and tips.
Wednesday Market: Every Wednesday, 1:30 to 4:30 p.m. at R.C. Hall. Local vendors, fresh produce, handmade goods, and friendly faces.
