“Let the beauty we love be what we do....” from Rumi
Is it sufficient to love the image, the person, the story enough to long to put just the right words to it? To work to find the right words, and the right rhythm in which to say them? As I used to long to make the pencil move along the page just so....to create the snow on that pine branch, the curve of my daughter’s shoulder, the scales of a turtle’s shell.....to LOVE the thing enough to want that love to flow right onto the page thru my pen.
Now it’s harder, to draw with my fingers flying on these keys.
Is that enough? Is it enough just to grapple with whatever the techniques of your art are....and thus repeat in humble miniature God’s creative acts? Whatever the response to it might be. Whatever gratification you might receive—or not receive—from that response.
Maybe it’s just what I choose.
Maybe it’s what I choose, and maybe just like the sketches tossed all over my husband’s floor, there need to be a hundred wrongs to make a right.
He was so dedicated to what came through him...as if he didn’t dare (or want) to change one line. I am dedicated enough to work and work it, to knead the material until it yields its gem, until the straw turns to gold.