I’ve become obsessed with an artist who paints vibrant florals. Her colors are thick with brightness and she covers the canvas, letting the leaves drape over the edge.
I’m a follower of hers, have an Instagram fueled yearning to be her.
I find myself fascinated by her skills, the way she markets herself, the gallery in which her art is displayed, I’ve decided is sleek and uptown.
“I need to paint florals.” I told Connie when I stopped by to scan the walls of her shop to see if she had any on display, sizing up what would be my competition.
I’d sold an angel and one of the “Pines” pieces. She handed me the check. I don’t believe I thanked her, how quickly I’d walked away,
Last night, I told my husband I needed more time to write.
I need more time to paint.
If I’m going to be good, I need to do more and I need more time to do it. I don’t have the time I need to be good.
This morning, I walked by my little corner room. It’s a mess.
I’ve given in to allowing the dogs to share it.
My pretty rugs are all off kilter, edges rolled over, been rolled around on.
The blank canvases are not in order, out of place. The mason jars have muddy water covered brushes and there are at least four pieces unfinished.
I knew not to go through the door, I’d have wanted to stay.
I’d have started with putting things where they should be, clean slates for creating and then I’d have put my apron on and squeezed out plops of color on my palette.
I’d sit back and play, Alison Krauss or Bebo Norman and the dogs in their spots they now share would have begun to breathe soft and easy.
Lost in painting for no reason at all, except that it’s my treasure, this treasure God planted in me.
Time gets lost track of, I’ve no need other than to continue. Whole evenings feel like grace.
I could sell hundreds of paintings and I would still want more if I painted from the place of seeking to be special, to be seen, to be sought after.
There’s a need that’s insatiable, the bottomless pit called notice, the ocean bottom wide and wondering that asks why them, not me, and why not yet for me when so many already have so much more.
But with grace, sufficient is my treasure.
“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” 2 Corinthians 4:7 NIV
I bought new canvases, one large and three nice 5 x 7’s. Tomorrow I’ll try my hand at florals, bright pink camellia type blooms with lively thick green leaves and stamens of happy yellow, thick in texture, touchable and bursting through.
We shall see what beauty may come, shall come from a place held by grace.