Sometimes my soul feels parched. I crave some sort of nourishment or surely I, and my art, shall faint. It’s a lonely feeling; there’s nothing you can point to and say "this hurts." I see myself crawling across the desert, stalked by vultures who take their strength from any bit of weakness I show. My eyes search each crevasse, each shadow, for predators, and because I am alert and aware I see them.
Is that the cornerstone of our life, our work, searching out predators?
As human beings, we have been blessed with memory, imagination, and soul. We see the predators, yes, but we also remember that light from which we sprang; we imagine what we cannot know; and we own our soul for eternity. This allows us to lift our eyes from the shadow and the crevasse so that we can see beyond the moment’s parched ground to an abundance of grace.
As artists, perhaps this is our mission: search out the vistas and portals, hear the heavenly voices, and see the light to which we are all related. We must be, we must point to, "the fresh springs."
The Psalm reference above was sent to me by Dorothy Ralph Gager, whose art is currently showing on the Art Blog at Episcopal Cafe. She wrote to me: "Fresh Springs, that’s our challenge."
Image and words by C. Robin Janning