I’ve been in an artist mentoring program for a year now and have gone through a few important changes. I am much more confident about who I am as a writer, poet, and painter. When I entered the program, I had no confidence in my art, even though I’ve been doing it on and off for as long as I can remember. I am happy to report that though I am still working on improving my skills, I am much more confident about sharing it in the world (and you can see some of it on social media or in my monthly newsletter).
I’m also much more confident about who I am, as a child of God, and that is where my identity lies. Because of God’s grace, I love to paint flowers and other things that pop color. Since flowers bloom for a short time, I feel like they are little blessings showered upon us to show how much God loves us. He is the maker of the rainbow and all the magnificent colors we see.
I recently learned from Betty Edwards book, “Color,” that the human eye can see so many more colors than anything our technology or materials for creating and printing can make. What a wonder – our eyes! Each time I take a moment to study a color that I might paint, I am grateful.
This puts me in the state of mind that we should all take moments to appreciate the little things. I know it sounds cliché, but clichés are clichés for a reason. There’s usually truth to them (and how many times can you use the word cliché in a sentence?).
Why do we learn to appreciate things as we get older? As my aging eyes grow worse, so I appreciate those moments that I can read without them getting blurry. As fall approaches and leaves fall from the trees, I appreciate when those same leaves were young and pliant in the spring, rather than old, brown, dried out. When the flower withers, I long for the moment it burst from its bud, fresh and vibrant. As my back aches, I long for the days of my youth, when I rolled my eyes complaints of pain, got on my bike and rode for miles.
Now I’m rambling. But I hope that you will take a moment to appreciate a color-a flower, a child’s hair or eyes, a young tree, or the stripes on that skunk you just passed on the road. These are moments. Wisps of time that won’t return. Days move on and time passes, like the leaf that buds, blooms, gathers light, and then withers and dies.