A friend of mine, a highly accomplished and widely collected artist, offered me the opportunity to work as his understudy. It didn’t last long, I shook too much. One day I joined him in his studio as he was finishing a 50” X 50” painting, destined to be sent to his New York City gallery, when he turned to me and said, “Take the controls”. It reminded me of my brief stint at flying lessons. I was fine with the pilot safely ensconced beside me with a hand on the tiller but when it came time to solo I looked for the parachute.
The artist, who shall remain nameless for fear of alienating his collectors, asked me to paint the last remaining, and brightest star in the nearly finished work of art. I screwed up my courage, and with the aid of a painting stick to steady my hand, (which did absolutely no good by the way) proceeded to stare at the appointed spot where the star was to appear. After what seemed like an eternity (I was creating the firmament after all) my hand steadied enough to give it a go.
False start. My arm, supported by the painting stick, didn’t move. I couldn’t quite reach the canvas. An invisible string attached to my elbow kept my brush, awash with starlight, a safe distance from the canvas. One more deep breath and I let it rip. A splash of color, just where God intended that star to shine, appeared on the canvas. To be honest, I think I had closed my eyes for fear of painting a comet where none should be visible.
Job well done, the painting was shipped off to the gallery and now hangs in a home I will never visit but a part of me resides there, lighting up the evening sky, and shining its grace on that lucky individual. It has been said you never know what it is like to be someone until you walk in their shoes. Now I know how God must have felt as he dabbed the sky with the points of light that guide us through life.
Happy birthday Galileo.
The artist, who shall remain nameless for fear of alienating his collectors, asked me to paint the last remaining, and brightest star in the nearly finished work of art. I screwed up my courage, and with the aid of a painting stick to steady my hand, (which did absolutely no good by the way) proceeded to stare at the appointed spot where the star was to appear. After what seemed like an eternity (I was creating the firmament after all) my hand steadied enough to give it a go.
False start. My arm, supported by the painting stick, didn’t move. I couldn’t quite reach the canvas. An invisible string attached to my elbow kept my brush, awash with starlight, a safe distance from the canvas. One more deep breath and I let it rip. A splash of color, just where God intended that star to shine, appeared on the canvas. To be honest, I think I had closed my eyes for fear of painting a comet where none should be visible.
Job well done, the painting was shipped off to the gallery and now hangs in a home I will never visit but a part of me resides there, lighting up the evening sky, and shining its grace on that lucky individual. It has been said you never know what it is like to be someone until you walk in their shoes. Now I know how God must have felt as he dabbed the sky with the points of light that guide us through life.
Happy birthday Galileo.
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Hey, I know that artist! Eat your heart out Mr. G - it isn't as easy as it looks!
ReplyDeleteA fine pose and posture for fine art !!! With a little more practice and dedication a "certain artist" might hire you to be his "star" assistant...
ReplyDelete