My Angel?

So here I am, still in limbo, or in transit, and struggling as I try to be even remotely creative. Where has my inspiration gone to? This is like going through the process of giving birth, but nothing appears. Well aware of the pain and anticipation (much like the actual birthing experience), I decided to read a few pages of books and numerous blogs of other creative people. One of my favourite artists and bloggers is Hyatt Moore.

His latest blog certainly resonates with me at such a time as this. I thankfully and with appreciation share it here.

http://www.hyattmoore.com/blank-slate/2017/02/28/a-word-for-me/

Maybe next time it will be me standing with my angel behind me.

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My Destination

This blog is about my journey. It is about the process, the steps I am taking to get closer to my ultimate goal: creating and adding beauty to our world.

It puts me in a vulnerable position, as this blog consists of my mistakes and disappointments as well as my moments of triumph. Experts would not classify my work as art. Yet, someone said that the sooner you make your first 1000 mistakes, the sooner you will produce something really creative.

At the Denver International Airport I saw this quote:

“I have arrived. My destination is in each step.”

Am I enjoying the journey?

Absolutely.

 

 

 

The Last Supper

This journey started three years ago when my art teacher in South Africa, Brindley Pritchard (visit his site here), painted his version of the Last Supper. He felt that he wanted to donate it to the Museum of Biblical Art in Dallas, Texas. Circumstances did not allow him to do so at the time, and the painting has “waited” patiently until now.

As it turns out, I am the one who is privileged enough to deliver it by hand on Brindley’s behalf. I boarded three airplanes with the canvas rolled up securely in a box, safely hidden away.

Being familiar with the painting and with Jesus’ expression in the painting as he talks with his disciples, I can only imagine what it was like during those final hours before He was betrayed. His friends and followers must have been extremely distressed when He told them he would soon suffer and die. More so when He predicted that they would all desert Him. And Jesus? He already knew His fate and asked three of them to go with Him to Gethsemane to watch and pray. He was exceedingly sorrowful and troubled. Yet, in spite of his obvious distress, they fell asleep several times and could not keep watch with Him.

Then the final hour came…

What is my response to what He is still saying to me today? Do I at times roll Him up, pack Him away and securely carry Him under my arm?

May He graciously help me so that no rooster may be heard crowing.