This morning there was a watercolor sky as the sun tried to rise through the clouds and snow fell like white confetti. Peach and pink and gold. Beautiful. When I see mornings like this, I want so badly to find a way to capture it and carry it around in my pocket like a tiny treasure. Something lovely to pull out and hold in my palm while I go about my day. My husband’s cousin is an artist, and whenever I see something paint-worthy, I think of him, and I wonder if it would capture his eye too.
I envy him that. The ability to capture and release this beautiful world with his eyes and his hands and his gift. A dear friend is a musician, a violinist, and I think about her too and wonder what music she hears when she sees a smile or a sunrise or her laundry pile. I think it must be a glorious thing, to hear the music and to make it too.
The artist has a day job and a family. He has a show to prepare for, and according to his wife, he needs more time and more art. The musician is a full time mom to three. She runs a busy home, and her music suffers. I know because she told me. I wonder if they feel frustration in the inability to pursue their art as they would choose? Does the inspiration ever fade? Or does it build and back up until they have no other choice but to give in and create?
I feel that way sometimes about writing. It’s as if the words busy themselves building a tower in my heart until they must, must find a way out. I think they find their escape through a very small window, one that squeezes each letter out slow, like molasses. It doesn’t feel like a treasure I can put in my pocket yet, or something that captures the bit of beauty that is inside, building word towers. Maybe someday it will. Maybe it won’t. For now, I try to be okay with that. I think of my artist cousin and violinist friend and I know that the path to art isn’t perfect, it is simply putting one foot in front of the other and staying the course.
What path are you walking? How hard is it to stay the course?