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She felt like a collection of scribbles that were being erased.
It is so easy to believe we actually understand what we thought we saw (feel free to fill in the implied blank). Snap judgements based on witnessing a few moments are never wise, or kind, and could prove destructive. So whatever you saw, do not speak of it. Rather, try to understand it, preferably with an open mind.
Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won’t come in.
― Isaac Asimov
My sister is an artist. I am an artist. We share ideas, methods, struggles. That is a blessing beyond compare. Both of us would describe the other as our biggest fan.
What I most admire about Barb Pearson is her very conscious effort to make how she lives an open book. Truth and authenticity are the standards she constantly practices upholding. And it shows–in her paintings and in her life.
“I am looking for a good hook,” she said. “The kind that lures people in.”
“People? What do you want to lure people into?” She had certainly caught his curiosity.
Now he was a little confused. “You want to lure yourself in?”
“Yes. I want to find something that really excites me, sends a jolt of electricity through me, lights me up. I’m just not sure what that is yet.”
“I was hoping I excited you a bit.”
“I said something that excited me, not someone.” She kissed him like she meant it. “But as important as a good relationship is, it doesn’t replace doing something where I can contribute to life, with a capital L, if you know what I mean.”
“Love has a capital L.” He grabbed her, held on tight. “But I do know what you mean. You are looking for a purpose to your life, THE purpose. It is a worthy goal. Laudable, with a capital L.
She gave him a push, pretending to be annoyed, but she knew he would support her completely. He was that kind of man. Which made her a lucky woman.
Lucky, with a capital L.
Brenda Smoak has a wonderful blog called “Artists Tell Their Stories.”
This week the blog featured an artist called Carol Wiebe. I am quite close to her.
In fact, I am her. (Someone had to take the position. I quite like it.)
Everywhere she turned, she heard music. It took some time before she realized that it was coming from her. She was the source.
She had always known it was buried deep within her. Sometimes it almost surfaced, got loud enough so that she actually began to hear words along with the melody. Lyrics–they must be lyrics; part of a song, a story. A lyrical story. And she wanted, no she needed to hear it.
Perhaps she needed to sing it, but how could she, if the words were not clear?
She felt as if she was a bell just learning how to ring. Ring with a capital R. Add the word Right, to that. Didn’t she have the right to hear the music inside of her?
Why else would it be there, if not for her to hear?
Other clowns know how serious we truly are under the funny face makeup.
I have often been told I think too hard and am too serious.
But I love to laugh and enjoy making others laugh. You might say I have always been somewhat of a clown, and other clowns know how serious we truly are under the funny face makeup.
Well, here is a caricature I made (from a selfie) that encapsulates those two parts of my nature.
It is a seriously funny look at a very serious expression. Flattering? Hardly. But funny? Absolutely.
I figure that if I can post this, I can post just about anything.