Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Art (01/18/07)
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TITLE: The Potential Did Not Change | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jayne Seargeant
01/24/07 -
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As I fill my water bottle and place my primed canvas on the ledge of my easel, I ask God to be my eyes and hands. I want to create something that will glorify Him. I don’t hesitate in choosing my favourite brush. It is thick, stiff bristled, and old with layers of paint splotches resembling party confetti and ribbons along the length of the stem. I always choose this brush first.
Today I feel “red” mostly, so I squeeze my tube of crimson acrylic paint until a small red snake squishes onto my palette. I then add hues of ultramarine, cadmium yellow, mars black, burnt umber, and titanium white. I am ready to begin.
The layer of white gesso is soon replaced with forms unbeknownst to me. As colours blend and definition is blurred my eyes are trained on forms taking shape; now I know what it is I am painting. A child in a shadowed room reaches out of the darkness and confusion towards a lamp and some bread upon an old wooden table. There is a low fire glowing in the stone hearth, and a man’s smoldering pipe on the mantle. My eyes catch the faint outline of a door, slightly ajar. There is a hand on the outer brass knob. I am curious about who it is, and whether they are now arriving or leaving. I feel that my painting has some potential, however it is currently too dark in tone and melancholy in depth. I decide to lighten it.
Taking only the paint I require upon my brush, I begin to work out the details and highlights of the images coming forth. The fire is unrealistic, and the shadows cast are not quite right. The child’s eyes are shallow and flat, and the hand at the door barely manifests itself as true flesh. For over an hour I work at the details, only muddying the colours causing myself frustration and grief. This painting had potential, but now I feel that it is ruined and barely lends itself as art. I clean my brushes and leave. As if it had its own emotions, it sits pitiful and solemn upon my easel for weeks on end. Inspiration has escaped me.
Glancing at this sadly ignored painting as I fold laundry outside the doorway leading to the den, I am reminded of how God sees me. I recall that He has begun a work of art in my life, and that He will complete it. Furthermore, He means it to be good and pleasing…a masterpiece. Although God is not the one who muddies up my life, He is the One who will never set me aside out of frustration or grief. He will also not form me into a mediocre copy of another’s work; I am an original and a very valuable piece of art in the making. He takes my mistakes and superficiality and works continuously until truly fine features come forth with genuine brilliance and captivating realism. For God, there is no mistake I can make that is so extreme or so damaging that it cannot be repaired by Him or formed by Him into something completely new and beautiful.
With the last sweater in my basket folded, I head to the den and take up my tubes of paint and brushes. I have determined in my heart to work on this piece just a little while longer. I fill my water bottle and grab an old rag to wipe excess paint – all the while I am in wonderment of the grace of God.
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