On Papa's nightstand was a paintbrush, chestnut lacquered handle sprouting bristles never used. It was never not there as it was not ever used in the traditional way of oil and canvas. A reminder he had said. To know of the day as canvas and of our hand as brush; and too the night, that which started the day blank, would be of yellow or red or some combination thereof, always not blank, this creation creating, of life weaving as pen writing, as brush painting.
So each day began with sunrise, of light bringing color to life. This was the natural way of all things. Know it or not know it, what started blank would never finish blank. The halls of our life lined with the work of our hand, that brush, each day creating, touching, influencing light and dark, reacting or responding, holding or letting go.
When asked by Von of the brush upon her nightstand, ever present, she smiled and said, he lives within me still and not a day goes by I don't remember the brush of my grandfather upon my life. Then she paused before adding, and the brush of my own parents.
3 comments:
And I do love the smell of paint, especially oil paint. :-)
"The halls of our life lined with the work of our hand, that brush, each day creating, touching, influencing light and dark, reacting or responding, holding or letting go."
:) MASTERY! I've often used the analogy of a tapestry to describe out lives...the weaving in and out of light, dark and everything in between. Sometimes, it's not until we stand back and view the entire tapestry as a whole, do we realize how it all works together to make a masterpiece. Sometimes, when you're ass deep in crocodiles and it seems that BLACK is the only thread you have to work with, life can 'look' so dark and void. With perspective, however, that all changes - the dark lends contrast and detail and defining lines that couldn't be made with only The Light.
Trée, your "painted" life reminds me of that - as little as I actually know of it. A masterpiece in the making, with the Artist hand surely moving all the colors of the pallet about to create a one-of-a-kind treasure.
xoxo
Grace, I was beginning to think my blog had become a desert. Thanks for the endearingly wonderful comment. What a way to start my weekend. Thank you. :-)
I find that in order to paint like I would like to paint, I have to know, or at least remind myself that I am painting. I have far too many days where I lose sight of the blank canvas before me and my work looks like a bad Jackson Pollock. :-D
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