"A Dream"
by Alan L. Foote
It was on the edge of a dream, in a quaint, honey-lit workshop, where I first met the old Painter.
He was joyfully dropping brilliant drops of paint onto a very plain, off-white canvas. And paying very little attention to me, I knew that he was very aware of my presence. I watched curiously, wondering to myself why this old man was so busy creating something that made absolutely no sense to me; why he even felt it necessary to cover such a plain backdrop so randomly with such a rainbow of color.
“Experiences.” he finally said, not looking at me at all. “Every drop of paint represents experiences; some good – some not so good; some happy – some not; some very rewarding, and some, well, not so rewarding. And as you are aware, in- and-of-themselves, each individual drop of paint makes no sense as they are in this moment.”
I don’t remember moving towards him. However, in a instant I was standing next to the old man; so close to the old painter that I could detect small specks of dried paint on his graying beard and on the back of his care-worn hands.
He looked over what he had done and feeling satisfied, he raised his hands above the multi-colored canvas, and as he waved leathered hands across and over the canvas, the colors began to run together, to mix, to brighten. It was as if he was placing enormous pressure on the entirety of the paint covered canvas, and that pressure caused the paint to come together in such a way as to create the most extraordinary piece of art that I had ever seen.
“Now it is finished,” he said proudly.
I understood in a heartbeat that each of our lives is like a blank canvas. Each of the colors represents our life’s experiences. And it is true that as we look at each experience, we may not understand how that experience fits into the scheme, color, and design of our lives. But as we see those experiences in our lives as the old Painter sees them, we then realize that we are indeed the sum-total of each and every choice we make, every experience. And as we may say to ourselves in those times of darkness and despair, “My life certainly hasn’t been worth much,” let us each understand the magnificence of who we are, and see ourselves as the old Painter sees us, who when I left him, was dropping brilliant drops of paint on yet another very plain, off-white canvas.
by Alan L. Foote
It was on the edge of a dream, in a quaint, honey-lit workshop, where I first met the old Painter.
He was joyfully dropping brilliant drops of paint onto a very plain, off-white canvas. And paying very little attention to me, I knew that he was very aware of my presence. I watched curiously, wondering to myself why this old man was so busy creating something that made absolutely no sense to me; why he even felt it necessary to cover such a plain backdrop so randomly with such a rainbow of color.
“Experiences.” he finally said, not looking at me at all. “Every drop of paint represents experiences; some good – some not so good; some happy – some not; some very rewarding, and some, well, not so rewarding. And as you are aware, in- and-of-themselves, each individual drop of paint makes no sense as they are in this moment.”
I don’t remember moving towards him. However, in a instant I was standing next to the old man; so close to the old painter that I could detect small specks of dried paint on his graying beard and on the back of his care-worn hands.
He looked over what he had done and feeling satisfied, he raised his hands above the multi-colored canvas, and as he waved leathered hands across and over the canvas, the colors began to run together, to mix, to brighten. It was as if he was placing enormous pressure on the entirety of the paint covered canvas, and that pressure caused the paint to come together in such a way as to create the most extraordinary piece of art that I had ever seen.
“Now it is finished,” he said proudly.
I understood in a heartbeat that each of our lives is like a blank canvas. Each of the colors represents our life’s experiences. And it is true that as we look at each experience, we may not understand how that experience fits into the scheme, color, and design of our lives. But as we see those experiences in our lives as the old Painter sees them, we then realize that we are indeed the sum-total of each and every choice we make, every experience. And as we may say to ourselves in those times of darkness and despair, “My life certainly hasn’t been worth much,” let us each understand the magnificence of who we are, and see ourselves as the old Painter sees us, who when I left him, was dropping brilliant drops of paint on yet another very plain, off-white canvas.