The oil painting above my piano reminds me of lessons I too easily forget. Row upon row, the gray brush strokes, roughly an inch square, contain subtle elements of color. The color comes from a painting I wanted to paint—and attempted to. But the painting came from learning to let go of ideal notions that constrained me so I could allow experience to inspire something better.
Long, long ago, at a liberal arts college far, far away, a class of earnest, would-be artists, took a painting course to develop what they hoped might be talent. They discovered that painting entailed more than standing at the easel wearing a beret. They learned about color and line and to notice what wasn’t there as well as what was. They filled sketch books to practice the art of seeing their world beyond the obvious. Continue reading
