Unexpected (and Short-Lived) Beauty

The park was a mess after a night of Spring storms with muddy puddles and tree litter covering the walkways and raindrops still falling from the tree canopy.  I was tired, and my brain was also littered with unfinished projects, worries, and the seeds of potential ideas.  The world was gray and gloomy.  Then I turned a corner and was startled by the sight of the fallen pink and white azalea blossoms in piles of petals on the pavement brightening the world with their unexpected beauty.  

The weight of the water had knocked the flowers from the bushes where they were carelessly scattered by the morning breeze before settling in heaps against curbs and retaining walls.  Their fragrance lingered on the breeze along with the scent of damp earth.  I was sad that they would quickly turn brown and wither, but thrilled with the unexpected sight of their fallen glory.

I was reminded of the 75 tulip bulbs I planted in the first year of my marriage in my very first home, full of hope and promise.  I carefully buried them in the soil like tiny treasures.  I awaited their blossoming with eager anticipation.  I watched their progress daily.  When they bloomed, I was thrilled with the brilliant red petals and couldn't wait to get home to them at the end of a work day.  For two days, I enjoyed their perfection.  On the third day, a windstorm blew in during the day.  When I returned home from work, all that was left were the green stems.  The red petals were strewn across the green grass like remnants of a bloody battle.  I enjoyed them for only two days.  

Beauty and wonder is often fleeting, and maybe that's what makes it prized.  It is not something we can hang onto.  It will surely pass, but something unexpected is waiting around the next corner.  Just remember to keep looking and expecting the unexpected.  

I Can't Draw

"I can’t draw." 

I can’t tell you how many times I've heard this comment.  First of all, everyone can draw.  You just don't think you draw well - whatever that means. Second, feeling like you can't is all the more reason to try! Isn't that what we teach our kids?  Set an example for them.  

The problem is that most beginning artists are hung up on realism and accurate reproductions of objects, landscapes, and people. Realism is only one style of art. If I wanted to look at a cup, I could get one out of my cupboard. I don’t need to look at an exact replica of a cup rendered in paint hanging on my wall. 

While the skill of realistic reproduction is impressive, I would much rather see someone’s impression of a cup, no matter how wonky. If I’m teaching a class with a cup as the subject, I would love to see twelve very different interpretations, and I love that one funky cup painting that stands out with it's originality. 

So you think you are a terrible artist?  I don’t believe it. Come out to one of my classes and show me. Then I’ll show you an exoressionist or abstract masterpiece worth more than a hundred thousand dollars that isn’t all that different. Besides, if we only do the things we are good at and don’t challenge our assumptions, we will never grow. You might have a hidden talent to reveal. It is better to paint flowers that look "flower-ish" than not to try to paint at all.  

Need more convincing? Check out the book, ish. It is disguised as a book for children but it shares a valuable lesson for all ages about appreciating your own artistic impression. If you're pressed for time, just watch to the video of the book. And do share it with your kids, so they never say, "I can't draw".