I heard the still soft voice speak out into my now emptied space of life with in my life. With the passing of my Mother, my role as a caregiver and the freedom from my daughter’s independence I found myself in a time and season of space.
Wide open space.
“Paint…” The voice of God call my heart to art. I ignored it. I struggled against it. I found no art with my eyes closed or open. I warred against it.
Finally… I surrendered to it. I followed the voice and left unfinished, incomplete, awful pieces of art in the wake. First on paper, then on canvas after canvas. Nothing working, nothing clicking and I am no artist.
Then…I touched a piece of art coated, so I perceived with wax…What was this? The layers.The texture. The organic nature of happenstance coming together.
What was this? Wax, wood, plaster and pigments, all over my kitchen. Heat guns, torches, irons…all over my kitchen. Work on wood, work on paper, and finally art.
Then the words came, "Dream! Write it down, that vision you carry the hopes you can barely state out loud…what is it you would ask of this art?" I wrote, small concise words, framing a direction that was light and general. Then came the words, “Your dream is not big enough”…
and then finally Freed by the word, “YES!”
Yes I will go for it.
Yes, I will do it.
Yes, I will commit.
I will rise early.
Put it out there.