Closet Artist (volume 4)

Everything was black here. The walls around me. The canvas. Even the tubes of paints held nothing but blackness.

From the dark interior of my closet studio I imagined beautiful venues. I dreamed of the freedom of an artist to do what she was created to do. I thought about how far I had come, from the little girl, through all the ugliness. My flesh literally ached to be outside. Nothing could penetrate this world. No one came knocking.

One day, a speck of light came through a crack in the door. It wasn’t much, but it landed on a bit of blue paint. I wished for more light. I cracked the door a little more and a dim shaft cast weak light onto colors waiting to be awakened. Violets, reds and oranges. Fear reminded to stay where I was safe, but beauty and life begged me to leave. Little by little I was prodded to go out.

At first I came and went. Then, one day I brought out all my paintings to take a good look at them. Some were not any good. That thought didn’t crush me like it used to. Admitting and accepting their faults cleared my eyes to see beauty in some of the others. Some of them were actually quite good. Though imperfect. I hung one on the wall. Yes, there was danger in displaying it. Danger that it wasn’t good enough. Danger that someone might even copy it as they had copied the childish princess on butcher paper. But there was a certain goodness in seeing that I was okay enough with myself to display it and say, “Yes, this is mine. Like it or not. Take it or leave it. It is mine. It may not be the best, but it is my best. And it is honestly and authentically mine."

Some time has passed since I've taken up living again. I've even renewed contact with the One who inspired me to paint in the first place. Life is good and inspiration is around every corner. There is more to paint than ever.

Maybe someday I’ll even take up teaching again. I don’t know. But I do know a few things I’ll change if I do: I’ll show students my own work, knowing that real works by real people will bring more discussion and thought than a fake. My students will have the benefit of seeing my mistakes. They may even come up with ways to avoid my mistakes. Who knows? Maybe they’ll develop an eye for faulty tendencies in their own work. They can learn to be artists, not copy machines. And I would be more proud of that than of anything.

Oh sure, there will always be people who would rather not see an imperfect work displayed. Maybe they would rather I worked in the closet and only brought out the best pieces. Or maybe they would like me to bring a fake to show and tell. Some, knowing my history and seeing my blunders, might like for me to give up the notion of being an artist at all. I understand their misgivings. I faced them every day in the darkness of the closet, and most days in the light of outdoors too. But the end of the story is that I know what i was created for. Is perfection required? Or is it enough for me to do my best and honestly assess myself and my work and share what I learn along the way?

And speaking of sharing what I've learned, here's a biggie. f you’re gonna copy, copy the Original Artist, not me. But I’m gonna keep on painting, too. No, it won’t always be pretty. But I’ll do my best. There will be days that I will question my right to paint as much as anybody does. And when things get ugly it’ll take everything I have to stay in the light.

So do me a favor, okay? If you see me with my brush in hand, heading for the closet, gently take me aside. I don’t want to live in darkness anymore.

John 3:21