The painting below, executed about fifty years ago,
just re-entered my life.
I found it in the box in the basement.
Looking at this example, you will understand why no one encouraged me to become a professional painter. 🙂
But I like to think it’s not too late.
Not only can I take painting and photography classes at my local university,
but I can flourish as an artist in other ways.
Look at the painting again.
If you’ve read my childhood memoir Blush, you might recognize these buildings as
the Home Place.
Even at age fifteen, I knew that place laid a claim on my heart and on my identity.
So when it was time to write stories about my childhood, the Home Place became a character.
I tried to paint it with words.
Mary Catherine Batseson, in her book Composing a Life, says:
The individual effort to compose a life, framed by birth and death and carefully pieced together from disparate elements, becomes a statement on the unity of living. These works of art, still incomplete, are parables in process, the living metaphors with which we describe the world.
I hope I get a chance to take more art classes, but the work of art I care about most
is my life.
And, I can’t fulfill my mission to make it beautiful from beginning to end without a community of saints and sinners held in the arms of God the Great Artist.
How are you coming with the work of art called your life? What living metaphor(s) guide you?