the dramatic

I was asked, this morning, to dream.  The situation was not particularly conducive (for me, personally) - it’s been raining for days and when combined with itchy allergy face I tend to feel as though I could fall asleep instantly, wherever I am.  Walking down the street.

At this point, I was in a meeting. A weekly meeting.  I made the mistake of sitting on an entirely too comfortable couch.  It was taking most of my concentration to keep my eyes open.

Still, when the question was asked - what do you hope will happen? what do you dream of? …my heart leapt, to the same familiar perch.  Images twirl, enticing me.  I was too weary to make a coherent answer; I held my tongue.  But the answer is there, because it’s always there.  I can take that as a negative, too - the little voice in my head saying oh it’s just the same old thing…

It is the same.

But it is not just some old thing.

It is the stamp particular to my soul.

What I dream of, what I hope will happen, is art.  Such a small word for so much - the act of creation, the beauty of a moment.  I am fascinated by it in almost any form; the perfect step and turn of a dance, a look through a lens, the perfect phrasing of a song or a poem.  Done well, with skill and care, it stops me, arrests me.  I feel a tiny, fiery connection to all of creation and to the God who is creator.

But it’s not just the finished work that I love; it’s the process and the people.  I love artists - these brave souls who splatter themselves on a canvas, who dare to place a piece of themselves right out there in the world.  I love people who wouldn’t call themselves artists, but who are ready to try.  I love the wonder in someone’s eyes when they let go a little, the absorption that comes when they are given permission to pursue a creative task.  We all have something of that Creator’s spark, and I am amazed by the redemptive work art does in us.

What will happen?  I don’t know.  But it was fun today to dream…

this time last year: wish you were here (20. 09. 2008)